Grand Theft Auto: Ross Island
by PerfectLight777
Summary: When Jason Beretto is recalled to Liberty City, he finds out his newest assignment from Luigi Gotorelli. Before he can handle "the Shadow," he must return to Vice City and get funds from Tommy Vercetti to help destroy the Triads. What starts to be a small
1. Prologue Enter Jason Beretto

PROLOGUE—Enter Jason Beretto 

1999

Francis International Airport

Liberty City, New York

Jason Beretto stepped off his plane, filling his lungs with chilly air. The five hour flight from Florida had linked him directly with Liberty City, New York. Jason had slept most of the way, but just before landing, the captain had come on and alerted everyone to the fact that they were landing soon. Jason had stayed awake for the last fifteen minutes of flight, and was one of the first passengers off the plane from the first class section.

His employer, a man named Salvatore Leone of the Leone Mafia, had ordered him to be called in right away. Jason had been friends with Salvatore's boy, Joey, since childhood. Jason could remember running up yards and playing war when they were young. As they got older, their games began to mature. Eventually, Jason got into driving for thugs, while Joey went into mechanics. They still talked, but hardly at all. Jason eventually moved to Vice City, which he heard had good opportunities. He had worked for some time under a man named Tommy Vercetti, a powerful businessman, and made tons of cash. He had never met the man, however—all his orders came by phone and his payment by mail.

In coming back to Liberty where he had grown up, Jason used up a vast amount from his savings, since the ticket was somewhat expensive.

Jason placed opaque shades on his face, pushed them up onto his nose, hefted his twin beige bags, and stepped down off the stairs. The descent to the ground was only a few meters, but the walk down the stairs seemed to take forever, as Jason reminisced about their childhood. Unlike some of the other flights, Jason was taken off his plane outside the airport itself in Liberty, and he was sort of sorry, because all he was wearing in the bitter cold New York weather was a pair of jeans, and a black T-shirt. His leather jacket was still packed with his other clothes, since he had come from Florida, and completely forgot about such a cold welcome after so much time in paradise.

His hair was a light brown, blonding at the sides, and he wore a silver watch on his wrist, with a shiny necklace about his neck. His face was clean-shaven, as he always kept it, and his shirt was neatly pressed, along with his blue jeans. The air seemed bitter cold to him compared to Florida, and as his foot hit the bottom stair, he noticed passengers getting into their rides and taking off. Several limos were parked in the area, and random people were being checked for guns. Jason hadn't bothered to bring his own Colt Python revolver, because he figured airport security was too tight nowadays to make an easy inspection. He would have to show ID multiple times, and he figured it would simply be easier to leave the gun behind, so he left it under his pillow back in his apartment in Vice City. No one could get to it there.

Jason had actually been called in to help with the increasing Triad problem. Ever since this ghostlike man had destroyed their fish factory front, the Triads have had it out for the Mafia. Also, the Diablos, the gang run by a large man named El Burro, were becoming somewhat of an annoyance. Although the Diablos didn't directly hate the Mafia, they were somewhat more on the Triad's side than the Mafia's. This spelled out trouble for the Leones. After recent Triad events, Salvatore Leone was scheduled to do some dealings with a man named Luigi Gotorelli, a big man in the Mafia who worked closely with Mr. Leone. They were going to sit down in Luigi's club and discuss possible solutions to their...problems. These problems were becoming increasingly annoying, such as Triad dealings on Mafia ground. If the Triads wanted to step their boundaries out of Chinatown, which was their territory, they could try and come into Saint Mark's, which was Mafia territory, but the Leones would have something to say about it.

Another big player in the Mafia was a man named Toni Cipriani, who, although being somewhat of a mama's boy, lent his fair share of dealings with the Triads. He had given work to the man everyone referred to as 'the Shadow'. This man had started working with Luigi, and had eventually ended up with Salvatore. No one had heard from him in some time, after he'd turned renegade and left Portland to flee to Staunton Island and begin working with the Yakuza. Shadow had never spoken once anytime his bosses had talked to him, and he also never gave out a name. Some Mafia bosses thought Shadow was planning on coming back sometime, but since no one had seen neither sight nor sound of the man, they figured he might have been killed, or even captured by the police. One could only hope, as he would probably try a hit against a Mafia man. That's the way the Yakuza operated—kill the boss and leave the gang with no one to run it.

Shadow had probably gone to work with Asuka Kasen, a woman that was a big player with the Yakuza, and her brother Kenji, for they could provide the man with jobs and money. He'd originally helped them settle a score with the Triads, but Maria, Leone's daughter, turned traitor and ratted out the Leones' plan to kill Shadow before he did them in himself. Again, no one had heard from him or Maria since they fled Portland.

Watches were being kept on Shadow's old hideout 8-Ball had given him down in the Red Light District, but he still hadn't returned to his old pad. Only time would tell if he ever would return. Mafia men were watching the whole alley, and keeping tabs on the garage he used to park cars in. They were perched on surrounding roofs, keeping their binoculars trained on the alley should any stranger wander in.

Also, some sites Shadow was known to visit—Portland Harbor, Luigi's Sex Club 7, the Callahan Bridge leading to and from Staunton, subways coming from Staunton and Shoreside Vale, the third island in the trio that made up Liberty City, as well as the El Train Tracks. Shadow was known to use the tracks for transportation. All these were monitored day and night, with Mafia men switching their posts off and on, and this was why Jason Beretto had been called in—his job was to find Shadow, and kill him.

As he walked several feet from the bottom of the plane, two Mafia Sentinels (black cars with bullet guards on the rear windows) came driving down a main street leading from the runway where passengers were let off. The cars came to a halt, and two men whom Jason had never met before stepped out.

"You Jason Beretto?" one of the men asked. He didn't sound American, but not Italian either, such as one would expect.

"Yeah, who wants to know?" Jason responded coolly.

"My boss, Mr. Leone. Wants you up at the mansion immediately. Get in the car and let's go, Mr. Beretto."

Jason ducked his head down and got in the rear back seat. One of the men loaded Jason's bags into the trunk, while the second man plopped into the driver's seat. A glint of metal reflected off the sun as he sat, and Jason noticed this in the rear-view mirror. This is when he began to become suspicious of the men picking him up.

As the cars were about to pull away, the man that loaded Jason's bags up pulled out a switchblade and the razor-sharp weapon clicked into place like a rifle bolt being engaged. "Enjoy the ride, Mr. Beretto," one of the men said as the driver locked the door. "You're in for a hell of a time!"

The man swung his weapon, but Jason ducked back, and the blade jammed into the seat. Jason used his foot to kick at the man holding the blade, and the driver swung a large baseball bat. Jason ducked under it, and the wooden bat smashed into the first man's face. The knife dropped to the floor, and Jason picked it up. As the driver swung again, Jason sliced through the skin, penetrated his jugular vein, and watched the man gurgle and sink to the floor.

The car came to an immediate halt after the parking brake was jerked into place, and Jason opened the door. He stepped out, and the first Mafia Sentinel made to ram him. Jason dodged in time, sliding over the hood of the parked car and crouching on the other side. The driver swerved, and slammed into a tree. Jason pocketed the knife, and reached into the first car, jerking the baseball bat from the driver's dead hands.

Three men jumped from the car. One of them threw his knife like a projectile, but Jason ducked left, and swung his baseball bat at the man's face. These men were obviously not the Mafia men sent to get them. They were probably Triads in disguise.

The bat connected, bone audibly crunched in the man's face, and the first guy crashed to the ground, bleeding. Two batswipes later, along with more bone-crunching, and both remaining men were on the ground, dead or unconscious. Jason searched all the bodies, and uncovered a small handgun which could be bought at the Ammu-Nation. This gun only had four shots left in it, regardless, he put the gun in his coat pocket on the inside, and put his knife in his breast pocket.

A crowd had begun to develop at the scene, so Jason pulled his bags out of the Sentinel, put the baseball bat into one of cases, and hailed a taxi. It was actually a long drive to Luigi's club over in Portland (he was far away, over in Shoreside Vale) even if you took the tunnels that run underground, and he wanted to get there and report what had happened to him before it was too late. Some Triad heads were going to roll for this.


	2. Chapter 1 Old Friends

CHAPTER 1—Old Friends

Jason thanked the taxi driver as he stepped out and grabbed his bags. Luigi's club was very private, so he went through an alley and around back. Not before going around the back, though, did he pass up a chance to glance and smile at the bunny-clad girls on the sign out front. His bags were somewhat heavy, so he set them on the stairs and knocked on the large door. Several seconds later, two Mafia men walked out, followed by Luigi Gotorelli, the man himself.

"Hey, Jason!" Luigi said in welcome. "Ain't seen you around here for some time. What've you been doing in Vice all this time? I need some good guys like you working for me. Look, I want to hear all about your flight here."

"I don't think you'll like what you're going to hear," Jason said as he picked up his bags and walked inside, past the twin Mafia men and into the lighted club itself.

"Let's go up to your room I've got on reserve and we'll talk."

Luigi closed the door behind him and Jason sat on his bed. "I got to the airport, and I suppose you planned to have some of your boys come and pick me up?" Jason asked. "Because I hope to God those weren't your men that came to get me."

"What happened?" Luigi asked. "Salvatore Leone is downstairs, and anything I need to know, the Don himself would want to know." He headed for the door.

"Wait!" Jason said as he laid back on the bed. "Don't let him know yet. I'll find him up at the mansion later on." Luigi stopped and came back.

"So what happened at the airport? I just sent my guys down to get you, and they obviously haven't come back yet."

"I was picked up by two Mafia Sentinels, both of them looking legit at first, but once we pulled away, one man attacked me with a knife, and the driver accelerated. I acted as well as I could. I killed both in the car, killed one in the other car, and wounded the other two. I doubted they were your boys; I usually get a better welcome than that. I figured they were Triad men dressed as Mafia guys. They came to eliminate me before I could help the Don carry out what he wanted to do. Lucky I got away from that in time, eh, Luigi?"

"Those definitely weren't my boys. Those Triads have gone too far, now!" Luigi ranted. He threw his arms in the air and stalked around the room. "It's nothing we can't handle. But Shadow is still on the loose, and anytime he could—"

_BANG!_

A deafening gunshot rang from outside. Luigi dashed to the window that overlooked the street beyond and turned back, his face contorted with rage. "Salvatore's been shot! The Shadow is on the roof across the street!"

Jason jumped to his feet and grabbed the handgun he had taken. With Luigi right on his tail, Jason flashed down the stairs and came outside. Salvatore was lying on the ground, bleeding. He had been shot by a sniper's rifle right through the heart—he was already dead by the time they got to the street. A clean kill, but one that the sniper would pay dearly for.

One Mafia man walked up and said, out of breath, "It was the Shadow. We saw him on the building, cargo pants and all. He ran down the stairs and is heading down the street that way!" The man pointed south down the street, where Shadow was indeed running. He came to a stop beside a Yakuza Stinger, and jumped in. The engine revved, and Shadow took off, flying down the street at insanely high speeds. Some Mafia men tried to stop him, but were mushed under the wheels and squirted out the back as the car passed in the process. Jason ducked as sub-machine gun bullets flew over his head—Shadow was going for a drive-by. One Mafia man fell, a victim to the uzi Shadow had fired at them.

"We have to catch him!" Luigi growled.

"Let him go," Jason ordered. "Our first priority is to get the Don inside, and let Joey know about this. Revenge will be taken soon enough, Luigi. On my life, I promise you I will kill that man, and end his reign in Liberty City."

Jason had been given a room at Luigi's club, but he was also given the task of letting Joey know his father had been shot. While Jason wasn't looking forward to having to break the news, he knew someone would have to do it sooner or later. Since Jason didn't have a car, Luigi had some of his boys bring a Mafia Sentinel around to the front, so when Jason walked outside, it was waiting on the side of the road for him, with the keys inside on the seat.

The car roared to life, and Jason cranked the heat. He was freezing in this town, and would be thankful when he would be able to get back to Florida and return to his old life. Before he could go to Staunton and hunt down the Shadow, he'd have to let Joey know what had happened, and then an investigation could be made to locate Shadow.

Joey's auto repair shop was located down near Portland harbor in Trenton, so Jason took off south down the street, waited at a red light, and then turned right, pulling into the right lane on the main highway running on the west side of Portland. Not many cars were out this late at night, so Jason didn't have traffic to worry about, but he did abide by street laws, so as not to attract police attention. Not long after pulling onto the main road, Jason came to Chinatown. This was Triad territory, and not long after he entered, some gunshots could be heard, and bullets ricocheted off the car's armored sides.

Jason cursed under his breath and sped up. He was trying to get through Chinatown before those Triads ripped up his car. Only two bullet holes later, Jason sped down a steep hill, passed a restaurant with multiple trucks and one Kuruma in the parking lot, and flew up the other side of the hill. He made a right, a left, and then and went around a very wide road. Just up ahead on the left, he could see Joey's workshop.

The Sentinel came around the corner, and Jason parked it right on the curb outside Joey's place. Jason turned off the engine, pulled out the keys and placed them in his pocket, pulled on his black leather jacket, and walked outside, slamming the door to his car and locking it behind him.

Joey had owned his shop for almost fifteen years now, and Jason thought Joey was doing pretty well for himself. He usually fixed the Don's cars, as well as other Mafia bosses like Luigi and Toni. Although, he would serve anyone that came to his shop looking to be fixed up.

Jason turned the handle of the door and walked inside. The musty odor of oil floated heavily in the air, and Jason cupped his hand over his mouth until he got used to the scent. Gas of all kinds was mixed with the smell of oil, and it was enough to make him gag for a second. Jason closed the door behind him and watched as a figure dressed in blue mechanics clothes rolled from the underside of a BF Injection (he got a lot of business with those buggies, because they had a certain tendency to break down in the cold, as a result of their diesel fuel) and looked up.

"Joey!" Jason called.

"What are you doing here?" Joey said, smiling, as he jumped up. He pulled Jason close to him and into a big bear hug. "Your letters stopped coming from Vice City some time ago, Beretto," Joey said, becoming more concerned. "What happened, you don't want to see me no more, eh?"

"I just got wrapped up working with Vercetti," Jason responded and returned the hug. "I don't know why my letters stopped, though. I was thinking of you the whole time." In truth, Jason had become enraptured with the opportunities Vice City had to offer. Tommy Vercetti, criminal owner of Vice, lived in a mansion he called the Vercetti Estate. He had lots of money, powerful friends, fast cars, and a whole crap-load of guns—enough to start a gang war if he so chose. In fact, it was Mr. Vercetti who had contributed whole-heartedly to the starting of the war between the Cubans and the Haitians. Tommy had claimed Vice City when he killed Sonny Forelli, an enemy of the Leone Mafia.

"You come with good news for me, Jason?" Joey asked as he rolled back under the BF Injection and started working again.

"Not exactly. I was called into Liberty by the Don, to help with that man they call the Shadow."

"Yeah, I know him. He used to do some jobs for me, until he started working with my pop. He was a pretty good guy, always did what he was told. He never spoke, or gave out his name either, just did as I instructed. Hope to run into him again sometime."

"I doubt you'll ever want to see him alive again, Joey," Jason said grimly.

Joey laughed. "And why is that?"

"Your father, the Don, was killed by a sniper yesterday evening. We all met at Luigi's club, and when he left, he was shot through the chest. Killed instantly, the bullet took him straight through the heart."

Joey rolled out from underneath the car, his face frowning. "Who did it?" he growled. Whoever did it would pay dearly.

"The Shadow."

Joey hurled his wrench across the room. The windshield of a Perennial that was up on a winch shattered, the glass raining down on the seats. Joey slammed his fist against the BF Injection, and sucked his finger when it bled. "That little—" Joey let out a string of curses, all of them pertaining to the Shadow. He let out every curse word he knew, plus a few made-up ones, and then some. "I'll make Shadow regret the day he was born! I'll murder that guy! Where is he now?!"

"That's the thing," Jason said as Joey slammed his knuckles into the wall and left a dent. "We don't know where he is. All we know is somewhere in Staunton. Luigi's boys have been keeping watch over his old pad, and he's also got boys watching everywhere he's been before. Nothing has turned up, and we don't know where he'll go next."

"Even if we did find him, the Mafia is screwed without my father! Who is going to take over until we get a new Don?"

"Luigi tells me Toni Cipriani has agreed to step in, and although he doesn't like it, someone has to run Portland until you can take over. It's up to you to become the new Don of the Mafia, Joey. That's what they want you to do."

"I don't know about that," Joey said, pacing now. "I can't run a third of a whole city, the Triads will eat us alive. We gotta let Toni keep going until I get my bearings. I say we expand into other parts of the city. Take over Shoreside Vale, and trap that freak in his portion of the city. If he shows his face in Portland ever again—"

"Luigi's boys will make sure he doesn't leave alive," Jason said, finishing Joey's sentence. "Don't worry about it, I don't think Shadow will be coming here anytime soon. He left a Banshee parked in the garage, but I doubt he'll risk showing his face again." Jason hesitated, and looked at Joey's face, which looked near tears at the loss of his old man. "When he does, we'll have him trapped like a rat, Joey!"

"I swear we'll make him pay. What's our next step in taking over Liberty City, which is something we've been thinking about all along? Pop's ultimate goal was to own the whole city, like Vercetti did to Vice. Who do we have to kill to take it over?"

"The Triads would have to go," Luigi said as he walked through the door, followed by Toni Cipriani and around a dozen Mafia boys dressed in black, "and we'd have to make a deal or eliminate the Diablos. I doubt the Cartel would give us much trouble, but if so, we'd have to take them out as well."

"Luigi," Joey mumbled. "You're here."

"Yeah, and the only man I can think of that would have enough men and firepower to pull that kind of stunt—eliminating or subduing or dealing with other gangs—is a man in Vice City I know. His name is Tommy Vercetti, and if we make a deal with him, we'd be on our way to owning Liberty City."

Jason Beretto pressed his foot on the pedal of his newly-acquired Mafia Sentinel, and heard the engine rev. He shot down the street, turned left, and drove up towards the Leone Mansion.

The previous day, when Jason had broken the news to Joey, Luigi had interrupted. Shortly after that, Jason was dismissed, and free to do what he wanted for the next day. But in just five minutes, Jason was scheduled to be in a meeting with the most respected men in the Leone Mafia. Men like Toni Cipriani, whom Jason had never actually met face-to-face, Joey Leone, of course, Luigi Gotorelli, and Jason himself. They planned to go over recent events with the Mafia.

Luigi had called Tommy Vercetti in Vice City the previous night, and the man agreed to speak with one of their own, but none of them knew who to send. They were also meeting to discuss this event, as well.

Since Jason had spent most of his days in Vice City, he figured he would be selected for the job, but he wasn't going to count his chickens. He'd learned not to do that the hard way.

A large opening in a concrete wall lead to a sandy path. Jason eased in the gap, turned an immediate left, and ground down the path. After several meters, the path opened like a flower onto a large porch, which was attacked to a small mansion, owned by the Leones. Jason parked his car near the garage at the base of the house, next to two other Mafia Sentinels parked there.

Jason switched off the ignition, got out, locked his car, and dropped his keys into his pocket. He wanted to get this meeting over with, and it was just beginning as he walked into the outer area, which was more like a living room than anything else. Red couches and chairs were strewn on equally as red carpeting, making for an inviting environment.

The coffee table in the middle was littered with empty or full mugs of coffee. Some of them were still piping hot, but some had already lost their heat to the bitter cold of Liberty City.

"Welcome!" Luigi said as Jason sat down next to him. "This here is Toni Cipriani, I don't believe you two have met." Jason shook Toni's hand and then leaned back into his chair. "We have some important things to discuss this meeting, and I think the first thing is, who are we going to send to meet with Mr. Vercetti? The man's a powerful person, and if we don't do this right, our plan will be completely screwed up."

"We should send Mr. Beretto here," Toni said as he pointed at Jason. "As I understand it, Jason has just come from working for Mr. Vercetti, and if anyone like him knows Tommy better, we don't know 'em."

"Actually," Jason confessed. "I never actually met the guy. I did several jobs for an associate of his named Ken Rosenberg. They paid pretty good, but other than that, I never met the man himself. I also worked with a man named Avery Carrington, who is also one of Tommy's partners."

"You've been in closest contact with Tommy," Toni said, "and I think no one could convince him better than you. Point out the things you've done for him, and make sure he understands that once we've taken over Liberty, he'll reap ten percent of our rewards for the next ten years. That sounds like something he won't be able to turn down."

"Tommy told me he's running a dying business," Luigi interrupted. "He's running out of men. Money is no problem, but he wants to meet with one person, and if Toni feels that man should be Mr. Beretto, I agree."

Everyone in the room nodded and agreed.

"Then it's settled," Toni said, putting his hand on Jason's shoulder. "You leave in two days."

Jason leaned back into his chair and listened to the rest of the meeting.

"Our other point of interest is some recent happenings with the Triads," Joey piped up. He was one of the quietest in the group, but when it came to getting down to business, he was the one you wanted. "Alright, the Triads have got us pinned up here. Ever since their fish factory went up in flames, they've been hunting our blood, and since they know we worked with the Shadow, that fits into the problem even more. Shadow was the one that blew their factory, and we've been ratted out to them. The Triads won't stop until the last of us are dead and gone, and they'll own Portland."

"There's not much we can do about them until we get Mr. Vercetti to agree to give us some cash. We need guns, real estate wouldn't hurt, and some nice cars to pull it all off. Also, our boys have been running short lately ever since we were ambushed while investigating Triad laundromats," Luigi said, fondling a knife in his jacket pocket.

There was a sound of a car pulling up outside. No one regarded it as danger until voices were heard. "Get out of there, Cipriani!" a voice roared. "We know you're in there!"

The Mafia men immediately snapped into action. Toni was ushered from the room by two armed men, and eight heavily-armed Mafia men came running from the same door Toni had left through. Luigi, not being a fighter, followed Toni and vanished from sight. Joey, on the other hand, drew a sidearm and tossed a small pistol to Jason, who caught the handgun in mid-air and checked to make sure it was loaded, then he clicked off the safety.

"Let's have some fun," Joey said as they stood up and followed the Mafia men outside.

"You've been around Portland for too long!" called one of the Triad men, who was waving his gun threateningly in the air. "Much longer, and your boys come into Chinatown." He withdrew a knife and mimed slitting his own throat. "This last any longer, and we're going to have to run you out of town, Mafia scum!"

"Tell this to your boss!" Joey shouted back. The Triads stood just past the car guard at the base of the ramp, and the Mafia men were at the top, just over the lip of the ramp. "We ain't leaving Portland, and if he knows what's good for him, he'll get his ass out of Liberty City all together!"

"We make you pay for that!" the Triad returned and fired his gun. Jason just barely dodged the bullet.

"Fire!" Joey shouted. The Mafia men raised their shotguns and fired. Flashed issued from the muzzles, and bangs instantly filled the air as the Triads dodged back behind their trucks, and released all their pistol ammo. In a ground fight, the Mafia could hold their own, but the Triads would simply pull back and resort to car fights, which the Triads knew how to do effectively in their trucks.

"Get around their back," Joey said, and Jason nodded, sneaking off to the side. "Get to one of their trucks and rig it to blow."

Jason slinked around the hedges, as the fight carried itself into the yard. Mafia men started to push back the Triads with their shotguns, but another Triad fish van arrived, carrying a dozen more men, who immediately opened fire. Jason rolled back behind the truck and flattened himself against it as the driver got out and joined the melee.

Under the truck, the pipes connecting the exhaust were blackened with dirt. Jason pulled out a grenade, and pulled the pin out with his teeth. As he spat the pin to the ground, Jason made sure the lever that triggered the device was held down, and he slipped it into the exhaust pipe. Seconds later, he did the same thing to the van sitting caddy corner to the first. If two of the four vans were rigged, it would only be a matter of time before one of them went off. The heat would probably force the grenade out, causing it to explode on the van behind it as they were driving down the road. This maneuver was risky, but it was something Jason had just thought of, and he wanted to see if it would work.

BAM! A bullet whizzed under Jason's arm, and he fell back in surprise. Two Triad men stared down at him, their guns raised. Suddenly, a neat bullet hole formed itself in the center of the one on the right's chest, and Jason kicked the remaining one in the leg, causing him to stumble. Jason raised his gun, and shot the man in the head. He took this momentary cease-fire to reload his pistol as two Mafia Sentinels drove up, each unloading eight more shotgun-laden men.

"We've come to help, Mr. Beretto," the lead man said.

"It's greatly appreciated," Jason returned.

In less then twenty minutes, the Triads were rounded up, and only four Mafia men had fallen prey to them, while more than eight Triads lost their lives. Toni Cipriani stepped from the house and walked smoothly down the ramp. He snatched the lead Triad by his shirt, and pulled him forward. The Triad was bound by his wrists, and Toni frowned as he said, "The Triads ever shoot my men again, and you'll lose five times this much, understand?" Toni growled.

The Triad man nodded, and the vans were sent out of Mafia territory. The Triads gave up their weapons, and in exchange, Toni let them go alive. Before he did, though, he shot two Triad men with their own guns, to make examples to the rest of the slobs.

"Get near us again, and you'll all meet their fate," Toni snarled, indicating the fallen bodies, which were quickly thrown into the water.

"Good thing we didn't let them get near you," Joey said as he slapped Toni on the back while the vans pulled away. The two of them started to go back inside. Jason, on the other hand, moved over to his Mafia Sentinel and pulled out the keys. As he inserted them into the lock, Joey said, "Where you going, Jason?"

"I want to see if my grenade idea worked. If it didn't, I'll make it work," Jason stated. He unlocked his car, jumped in, closed the door, and started the engine. In ten seconds, Joey and Toni lost sight of him as they walked back inside.

Jason pulled out of the dirt driveway and headed straight down the hill. Just ahead was the line of Triad trucks, all driving straight along. Jason had somewhat lied to the Don's son; he was going to see if his bombs worked, but if they didn't, he wanted to know where the Triad's knew hideout was. If they could find that, the Triads wouldn't stand a chance.

Following the trucks right, Jason clicked on the radio, and Chatterbox 109 started up. "Questions usually start with words like 'how,' and 'why,' and they end with your voice going up like this," Lazlow, the host of Chatterbox, said to presumably a caller.

Another voice came through in an over-the-phone tone and said, "Don't mock me! I know where you work! You're just like all the rest."

"How's that?" Lazlow asked as Jason pulled around the corner, while the Triads got nearer to Easy Credit Autos, a place where Jason knew they sold Banshees. He had heard tales of the Shadow haunting that place all the time, breaking the glass of the showroom and stealing the Banshee sports car inside. Nasty stuff to steal cars in broad daylight, but according to Joey, Shadow did it all the time.

"Word is evil dude," the caller said. "And toothpaste, they use it to control us. Why do you think all the commercials tell us to brush twice a day? I...I've read books!" the man finished confidently.

"What an idiot," Jason remarked as Lazlow went on.

"And what book have you been reading that tells you—" Lazlow's voice was cut off as Jason switched off the radio. The small convoy of Triad vans had pulled into the gas station across the street from Easy Credit Autos. Each truck was hooked up to a pump, and they were pumping them full of gas.

"Get out here," one passenger said as he jumped out. "And hold up the owner while we get away with some free gas. We need to save money, you know."

"How will I get away?" the volunteer asked.

"Run fast," the first man growled, and pushed the second into the store, where a gunshot could be heard, and shadows could be seen of another man collapsing.

Jason parked the car around the other side of the gas station where he was out of sight behind a raised wall, and turned off the engine. Since he didn't have much to do, he simply left the engine running, and the door wide open behind him as he stepped up to the wall and looked over.

"They're going to call the police on themselves. If I can frame them and make the crime seem bigger, we'll get rid of some people, and since my grenades haven't gone off yet, this is a good opportunity. He reached into the backseat of his Mafia Sentinel, and pulled out a bottle of alcohol, along with a doused wick and a lighter. Time to go to work, he thought to himself.

"Get that body around back," the lead Triad said as he jumped out of the van. The first Triad man ordered the one that had shot the register man inside the station to drag the body around back of the gas station and dump it. As the leader walked back towards the van, something flew past his head, and the next thing he knew, he was on fire.

The bottle had shattered on the ground, fire mixed with gasoline fumes, and the whole thing exploded. The Triad leader fell to the ground, burned to death, and some flames licked menacingly at the rear of the truck.

"Look out! They're going to blow!" a Triad man shouted as he sprinted away.

No sooner had he said this, then the flames burned through the grenade in the tailpipe, and the whole gas station exploded. The fury and intensity of the fire was so great, that the flames had literally caught the gas inside the pumps alight. The vans' windshields shattered, men burned alive and fell from their trucks, dying in the fire. In seconds, every Triad men present was slaughtered.

Jason jumped back into his car, slammed the door, performed a one-eighty, and drove back towards the mansion before the cops could link the Mafia to the crime. If that didn't show the Triads who was boss, he didn't know what would.

Sheriff Howard Jones walked slowly through the door of the police department. He sighed as two men ran up to him and told him more bad news. The gas station in Hepburn had exploded. Evidence linked the Triads with the crime, and if that was true, it would be necessary to run them out of the area, and back to Chinatown.

Jones knew the Triads literally owned the Chinatown area, but as long as they didn't stick their noses into anything they weren't supposed to, he didn't have a problem with them being there.

As he passed another cubicle on his way to his office, another paper was pushed his way, showing the total number of casualties in the explosion. Two dozen Triads were reported dead, which didn't bother the sheriff too much, as they were gangsters that broke the law anyway, but the sum that really got to him was sixteen innocents killed, including the gas station worker, who was found dead behind the building, which had shielded him from being burned.

"Always the same," the sheriff said as he was handed yet another paper, which showed evidence of tire marks opposite the gas station, near Easy Credit Autos. After closer examination, they appeared to be tire markings of blackened Mafia Sentinels, police found, after comparing them with records they had stored in the police station.

"The Mafia never leave any evidence of their involvement, but I know someone from their gang had to have had something to do with it." The sheriff reached his office, placed all the papers on his desk, and sat down in his chair. The one thing he needed this weekend was more gang wars. The Triads and Mafia had been at each other's throats for weeks now, all because the hitman known only as Shadow had killed the Mafia's Don.

It was surprising the police knew this much, but even though they knew the Don was dead, they didn't know exactly who the Don was. No one had ever seen his face, and even when they found him lying dead on the sidewalk, shot through the chest by a sniper, they couldn't identify him. Fake IDs had probably been used beforehand to keep him out of trouble, and away from suspicion.

"Shame," Jones muttered as he scrawled his lunch order and handed it to an aid that came walking in that very moment. The aid scanned the sheet, nodded her head as Jones picked up the phone, and quickly closed the door.

Jones dialed seven numbers, and then allowed the phone to ring. After eight rings, no one picked up, and so the sheriff slammed the receiver back into the jack, massaging his temples with his left hand, and running his right hand along the handrest of his desk chair. This wasn't going to be an easy day. They needed all the leads they could get on that explosion, and they had to find evidence the Leone Mafia was involved.

The question was...how?


	3. Chapter 2 Meeting The Man

CHAPTER 2—Meeting The Man

While the detonation of the gas station had gone well, Jason wasn't able to hang around long and chat about it. He was scheduled to meet with Tommy Vercetti the following day, and had to fly back in to Florida, with his plane leaving at eight in the morning.

Jason was up bright and early at four in the morning, having gone to bed the night before at midnight. With four hours of sleep, Jason tucked into his breakfast, checked his baggage, and was off for the airport at five. His silver watch bounced patterns around the airport terminal as Jason made his way through security, which was tight these days, and sat down in a chair. Again, he hadn't taken the gun Joey gave him; he didn't want the hassle of going through security and registering it. He figured Tommy would give him one once he arrived in Vice City, although he didn't expect to be doing much fighting.

While flipping through a magazine, Jason noticed an attractive woman with brunette hair come and sit across the aisle from him. After glancing up and noticing that part of her shirt was considerably closer to him than others (if you get his drift), he returned to the magazine and continued looking. The woman he saw had been watching him, and eventually he spoke to her.

"So, what's your story?" he asked casually.

She opened her ruby-red, full lips and replied, "I'm flying on my personal plane to Vice City." Jason was now interested. "My husband has been cheating on me, and I think he needs to be divorced. I'm flying there in our plane to show him my version of the story," she finished, and winked. She spoke with a Spanish accent.

"I'm going to Vice City myself," Jason responded. "Mind if I go with you and keep you company?"

The woman introduced herself as Taira, and nodded. "Of course, Mr.—"

"Beretto," Jason answered, finishing her sentence. "Jason Beretto."

The two of them headed across the terminal, and walked outside to board Taira's plane. Not longer than twenty minutes later, they were up in the air, flying for Vice City, and very much enjoying each other's company.

1999

Escobar International Airport

Vice City, Florida

"You're very good at that, Mr. Beretto," Taira said as she sat up and allowed the silky red covers to slide down her bare body. The plane had just landed, and Jason had finished his business with Taira. He pulled on his jeans and black shirt, packing his jacket into the beige suitcase.

"Well, I've had lots of practice."

An hour later, Jason walked out the terminal and came into a large open area. He had arranged to meet Taira (her last name was Lopez, although her Spanish accent was very mild) later that week. The airport itself wasn't very large, and it was entirely glass paneled. Plants were strewn all over the building, and the sloping roof above made for an incredible airport. Jason slowly walked down the escalator (or rather, let it carry him down) to the bottom floor and saw two exits. Moving towards one, he headed through security checks, and then outside.

Warm Florida sun beat down on his face again as he walked, and even though it was January, Florida was still warm and sunny. The sky was clear, meaning no rain for a long time, which was Jason's ideal situation. He didn't like rain at all, and so he was feeling pretty happy as a white Admiral pulled up, followed by an Infernus, which roared to a halt.

An imposing Texan man walked out of the Admiral's rear-left seat and introduced himself. He was wearing a blue jacket, dark blue pants, a white undershirt, a black belt with a dollar symbol on the front, a black and yellow bolo that dangled on his chest, and a large black hat with brown trim.

"Howdy, Mr. Beretto," he said loudly, shaking as he did so. "My name is Avery Carrington, one of Tommy Vercetti's associates. If it weren't for me, that man wouldn't be where he is today. He sent me to lead his boys in picking you up, and he wants you to ride in his own personal Infernus, if that's okay with you."

"Of course," Jason said as he lifted his bags.

"Put your bags in the trunk of the white Admiral, there, buddy, and we'll get going, alright?"

Jason nodded as a man wearing a red Hawaiian shirt and blue jeans jumped from the passenger side of the Admiral and popped the trunk. Jason placed his bags inside the trunk, and the man slammed it shut again. "My name is Lou Mario," the man said, holding out his hand, which Jason shook. "You've probably heard of me before, but I doubt we've met. I'm one of Tommy's most trusted men."

Again, Jason nodded and moved to the passenger side of the Infernus. Avery got into the driver's side, closed his door, and followed the Admiral out of the half-circle parking for the airport, and headed quickly down the street, engine roaring.

"So you've been sent by the Leone Mafia to discuss things with Mr. Vercetti, correct?" Avery asked, and Jason nodded. "I suppose you want money from him."

"Not only that, but we need weapons. The Mafia have also been losing men to the cops, they keep getting themselves arrested. We need to borrow some Vercetti Gang guys, and in return for that, we'll give him ten percent of our earnings for the next ten years."

"I don't suppose Tommy can turn that down, but he'll probably want to work things out a bit more," Avery said as he made a right, then a left, and continued down the street. Jason knew these roads, so he was correct in thinking the Admiral was leading them the right way. "You know how negotiations are."

"Actually," Jason said, leaning on the armrest. "I don't, really. I've never been sent to negotiate anything for the Mafia before, or anyone for that matter. I just hope Tommy will hear me out and at least consider our offer."

"Tommy's a fair man," Avery said thoughtfully as they pulled onto a long road with palm trees in the middle. "I'm sure he'll hear you out, Beretto."

Avery followed the car further down the road, and then they pulled right onto what Jason saw was Starfish Island. In all his time here, he had never been to Starfish, because come to think of it, he had never been over to the east side of Vice City. He had mostly handled affairs regarding the Cubans and the Haitians, two warring gangs. After driving down the road, Avery turned right again, onto a gravel road, and Jason peered up at the imposing white mansion with red trim. Jason gazed at the dirt drive as they pulled up. A two-car garage was situated to the left of the large steps leading to the door, and a white Stretch sat on the right side.

The Infernus halted, and its occupants got out. Avery told Jason his things would be unloaded from the trunk soon enough, and that they should go inside immediately. Tommy wasn't the sort of man you kept waiting. He used to be big in his younger years, but now he lived the somewhat quiet life, a man of fifty-one years of age, Thomas Vercetti, although the criminal owner of Vice City, had somewhat quieted down since nineteen-eighty-six.

Jason walked quickly up the cement steps, moving up the satin red coverings. He felt like he was walking down the red carpet, but they soon came to the oak double doors at the top of the stairs. Mario rushed forward after handing off the job of putting Jason's things away to some other gang member, and opened the doors for them, which swung in to a well-designed room. A balcony ringed the room, and a set of large red stairs led to the next floor. To Jason's left was another corridor, and to his right a lounge.

At the top of the stairs was Tommy's office. Avery pushed Jason inside and then closed the door. Jason saw a brown chair that was turned the other direction, facing the ocean view. The chair swiveled as Jason coughed to announce his presence, and Jason saw the most powerful man in Vice City sitting in his chair.

His hair was graying, but his cool green eyes managed to piece right into Jason's mind as he watched. Tommy motioned for him to take a seat, and Jason obeyed, sitting in front of the desk. He still wore his trademark blue Hawaiian shirt, and blue jeans, but he also seemed to have pronounced wrinkles on his face from so many years of work. He was also somewhat hard of hearing, after being around guns all his life.

"I know what you want," Tommy said, almost reading Jason's mind. His voice was hard, rasping, and demanding. His green eyes glittered as he talked. "The reason I want you here," he continued as he pulled out a glass of wine, "is because I want you to convince me, the reason I would want to fund the Leone Mafia. Make me think you've got something I want, and you have a deal."

Jason cleared this throat nervously and spoke, "We have been having problems with a local gang we know, called the Triads. We need—"

"I said I know what you want," Tommy interrupted with a dismissive wave of his hand. "That's not why you're here. Tell me what _I_ will get out of this. Do that, and I'll consider your proposal."

"We are offering you ten percent of our income every month, for the next ten years."

"Money is nothing to me," Tommy said, almost angrily, "you should know that. This is the reason Cipriani turned to me for funding. He knows I have money, he knows I have weapons, and he knows what I can do. My a bit weak in my old age, but he knows what my best boys can do."

"What is it you want?" Jason asked. "Anything you want, we can get."

"You can't get the one thing I want," Tommy said quietly.

"Name it," Jason breathed.

"Afraid I can't," Tommy said, leaning back. "I'd like to help you out, but since you can't think of anything to offer me, I have no reason to fund you, because what happens if the Mafia loses? I won't get my money back, and even though I'm a billionaire, I like my money, and giving it away needlessly is pointless. Frankly, I have a million other things I'd rather be doing."

Jason was beginning to panic now. He couldn't think of anything Tommy wanted, other than money, and if Vercetti turned them down, Jason would be kicked out of the family. He had to pull this off, or lose his life's work. He smiled as something came to mind.

Tommy saw the smile and returned it. "Think you have something I want?" he asked coolly. Jason nodded. "Try me."

"An Apache attack helicopter, nicknamed Hunter," Jason said quickly, his eyes glittering. "I know you've had your eyes on the one at Fort Baxter for some time now, and I know you've managed to get it several times. I noticed in the paper that security is tight around the base, and it would take a small army of crack experts to get at that helicopter. I know if I get could get it for you, you'd be willing to give me all the money I need."

Tommy was interested. Truth be told, he _was_ anxious to get his hands on the Hunter again. He had taken several years before, but they had all been destroyed in combat. What he would do for another one...

"You've got a deal," Tommy said, and the two of them shook hands.

"I assume we won't be able to pull this off for some time."

Tommy leaned back and smiled. "No, we'll need some time to plan it properly. But I'd say in a month or so we'll be ready."

"And until then?" Jason asked.

"Until then, I've got a job I want you to do for me."

"What's that?"

"Tomorrow, at one p.m., there's a man flying in from Ross Island out in California. He's got some drugs on him, and if the cops catch him, it's all over. He needs to be disposed of, and I want the drugs brought to me, understand?"

Jason nodded and stood up.

Before he left, Tommy stopped him. "His name is Brian Jones, and if you can do this for me, you'll have proven yourself, Jason Beretto." He handed Jason a permanent card for a hotel. "You can stay where I once stayed when I arrived here. That card is good for a room in the Link's View Apartment place. I own a room there, so you can take it, maybe it'll do you some good. I'd let you stay at the mansion, but there's hardly any room."

Tommy smiled and handed Jason a Colt .45 pistol, full of ammo. "That'll get you started, but you can go to Ammu-Nation if you need more, okay?"

"Got it."

"Good luck, kid," Tommy said as Jason left the room.

All things said, Jason had been well-cared for. Avery had given him a blazing-white Infernus as he left the building, with his bags already packed in the trunk. Jason pulled up to the Link's View Apartment, and parked in the lot. He walked upstairs, taking the steps two at a time, and burst into his room, setting down his bags and moving to the window.

No wonder they called it the Link's View. From his window, Jason could see the whole of Leaf Links golf course. However, it was getting late, Jason was tired, and he had a big day ahead of him. So, he moved slowly to the bed, tossed his shirt to the ground, stripped to his boxers, got under the covers, and was asleep in minutes.

A loud _bang!_ awoke Jason sharply from sleep the next morning. He yelped loudly and slipped out of bed, falling onto the ground. Another slam sounded, and the room seemed to shake from the force. Jason picked himself up, and threw on his shirt and unpacked beige cargo pants, slipping them on, and then getting into his gray shirt. He wasn't dressed too well for summer, perhaps, but the look suited him. He then picked up the Colt from his bed-side table and slipped it into his pocket.

The door swung open, for Avery had finally decided to use his master key. "Looks like someone's ready for work!" Avery said loudly.

Jason was puzzled—the man coming in from Ross Island wasn't scheduled until one. He then looked at the clock and saw the time was twelve-thirty. They had only half-an-hour to get to the other side of the city and rendezvous with this guy before his drugs (which were disguised against security to look like cases of clothes) were discovered, which they inevitably would be.

"Come on, boy!" Avery barked. "Let's get going!"

Two men came in after Avery. One of them had graying-blond hair, wore a dark business suit, and sported thick black glasses. He was much changed from his nineteen-eighties look. "Name's Ken Rosenberg," the man said, introducing himself. "I'm Tommy Vercetti's lawyer."

"What, am I being sued?" Jason asked as he leaned down and scooped his clothes into a bag.

"Of course not!" Ken said, surprised. "I'm merely one of his most trusted friends. I started him out here, you know, when he first lost all of Sonny Forelli's money, and he had to—"

"I'm familiar with the story," Jason grunted, stopping Ken from continuing. The second man that had come in was wearing a purple shirt, and had dirty-blond hair, which looked somewhat darker now he was past his prime. He was obviously in his thirties.

"This here is Kent Paul, another of Tommy's friends," Avery said as four Vercetti Gang members swept into the room, each of them carrying fully-loaded Ingram Mac 10's. "We won't be coming with you for the meet with this guy Tommy wants, but they will," Avery said, indicating the four gang members. They raised their heads in turn as Avery continued.

"This is Lou Mario, you know him," Avery said, indicating the brown-haired man Jason had been introduced to before, "and some others: Travis Skinner, Bic Kostan, and Neal Gary. The three of them will be coming with you into the airport. We want you to stop this guy, take him with you, dispose of him in any way you please," Avery said, with a smile on his face, "gets the case of drugs, and take them back to Tommy. Clear?"

"Crystal," Jason responded, standing upright, after finishing packing his clothes back up. Neal was hefting a large back full of something that was poking into the sides of the back. Jason eyed this as he laid his case on the bed.

"Then we'll see you at one," Avery said, and he, along with Rosenberg and Kent, swept out the door, leaving Jason with the gang men.

"Let's get going then, shall we?" Jason asked as he led the way out.

Skinner, who followed just behind Jason, opened his mouth to speak as they walked from the elevator and into the open air. "My partners and I want a fair cut of the money you earn on this mission. We each want ten percent."

"Five," Jason grunted as he pulled open the car door of the Admiral parked next to Jason's new Infernus. Neal tossed the bag into the trunk, and the four of them stepped inside the car. Jason was at the wheel, so he accepted the keys given to him by Skinner, and started the engine. As he turned around to back up, Skinner spoke again, this time a bit more gruffly.

"Nine," he said, sounding resolute.

"How about seven?" Jason growled. He was obviously becoming annoyed with Skinner's cheek. "If you don't want that, get out of the car," Jason said, halting the vehicle. Travis Skinner shook his head, so Jason pulled from the lot, turned right, and continued on past the hospital. Up ahead was a bridge leading over to the western half of Vice City, which was all one big island. Only way on was by plane or boat.

"We just need to be able to make our own living, you know?" Skinner asked, obviously satisfied with seven percent of the cut.

"How much is Tommy going to give us for doing this for him?" Jason asked, ignoring Skinner's last comment. Jason neared the end of the bridge, and swerved left, narrowly missing a honking maroon Landstalker in the far lane. He hit the gas, streak onward, and then turned right into a smaller street. After several more miles and narrow misses, the Vice City Airport loomed into sight. Jason pulled into the half-circle parking area, and pulled over to the side of the road.

"I don't know how long we'll be able to stay here," Jason said, "but we want to get the stuff before the cops are on to us. Neal," he said as they clambered out, "get the guns."

Neal popped the trunk with his own key and tossed the Ingram Mac 10's to their owners. Neal then threw the trunk closed, and the team of five headed inside. Jason looked at his watch and saw they were running close—12:57. Brian Jones' plane would be arriving at any minute.

Jason walked through the metal detector, and the alarm went off. As the guard came to check him, Jason looked innocent until the guard got near. Moving like lightning, Jason whipped the man across his forehead with the butt of the Colt, caught the fallen body, and let Neal drag it off. Neal disappeared inside the bathrooms. No security guards near them had seen, but it wouldn't take long before the men watching the cameras took notice. Neal was planning on changing into the guard's uniform and stay undercover, while Jason, Travis Skinner, and Kostan retrieved the drugs.

Their man, Brian Jones, appeared from his terminal—terminal 1-8. Jason could see the airplane he had come from. The airport had a swoopy ceiling, and lots of plants. Several sets of escalators let up to the second floor, where passengers came from their planes. Jason walked up one set of stairs, followed by Skinner and Kostan. Neal milled about by the entrance, pretending to be busying himself with the security machine.

Jones looked around, and spotted a man coming to him, who was wearing cargo pants and a gray shirt. Strange dress for Florida, but whatever floated his boat. As the man got near, he spoke. "You Brian Jones?" he asked.

"Yeah," Jones responded. "Who wants to know. I got a load of stuff for a Tommy Vercetti."

"I know. My name is Jason Beretto, I'm working for Mr. Vercetti." Jason stiffened as he frowned at Jones. "You shouldn't have come to Vice City by plane, Mr. Jones. What if the cops had found your stash of SPANK?" Recently introduced into Vice City, SPANK was a new high on the streets. Jason also heard of it back in Liberty. "Hand over the case, and let me deliver it to Vercetti myself," Jason said, very insistently.

"Why can't I take it myself? Do you know how hard I worked for this stuff?" Jones asked calmly. He seemed to be getting angrier that this man would suspect him of being so stupid as to get caught by the cops.

"We just don't want assassination," Jason said coolly. "If you'll be so kind—" he continued, reaching for the case.

Obviously, Jones thought these men were here to con him out of work, because he swung the case like a baseball bat. Jason ducked underneath the blow, but the case caught Kostan full in the face. He let out a gasp and tumbled backwards, tripping over a plant and nearly falling to the first floor. A fall like that would surely kill him.

Jason moved to pull out his gun, but he didn't dare fire inside the airport—cops would be all over them soon enough with the cameras. Jones swung his case again, and Skinner, whose legs were in the way, crashed to the floor. Jones took off, and sprinted down the steps. Jason regained his bearings and followed him, literally flying down the steps.

Neal, still trying to fit in, was up on a ladder, pretending to inspect the hinges on top of the bathroom door. Jones threw the door open, the ladder was in the way, and the whole thing tipped. Neal fell backwards and skidded across a small bench, and landed on the ground. Jones exited through the back door and headed out into the air field, where the planes were parked. Jason and Skinner were hot on his trail.

Jones pulled a gun and fired. Jason moved out of the way, but as he walked outside, the bullet struck Kostan in his chest, killing him. Neal still hadn't come from the building, he was probably out cold. Jason followed Jones, with Skinner bringing up the rear. Brian Jones spotted a baggage handler, and tossed the bag of SPANK into the back. He jumped in the seat, and then started the vehicle. Before Jason could get there, Jones swerved and headed right for them.

"Look out!" Jason snarled and threw himself out of the way. Skinner, on the other hand, wasn't so lucky. He didn't see the handler coming, and Jones plowed right into him. Skinner's legs were pushed to the front of the handler, he rolled across the front, right over Jones as he ducked, and landed on the ground as the handle headed for the road. Jason Beretto wasn't about to fail now.

Jason drew his Colt .45, and raised the barrel. If his aim was right...

He closed one eye, and pulled the trigger. The bolt kicked in his hand, and he saw the bullet fly straight and true. With a loud blast, the front wheel of the handler exploded in a puff of smoke, the handler bucked, the case flew forward, the handler hit it, and Jones flew right over the steering wheel. He cartwheeled in mid-air and landed hard on the ground, his back bruised.

Jason heard sirens in the distance. He sprinted forward, abandoned Skinner, grabbed the case, and hauled Jones into a Packer he spotted. The engine started as Jason hot-wired it in record time, and the huge truck rumbled from the parking lot. Jason headed back the way he'd come. Cops cars flew after him. He wanted to turn and head back to the mansion, but he had to lose the head. Jones was unconscious in the seat next to him, and the Packer was going straight for the water.

Grabbing the case, Jason opened the door, and jumped from the truck as it smashed through the cement wall and splashed into the water. Jason rolled into the water, and swam away before the cops could find out what had happened to him. The first place he headed was the Vercetti Estate, and Tommy was as pleased as he could be.

Jason placed the case of SPANK on Tommy's desk and smiled as the contents spilled out onto the hard walnut desk. "Got it all right here for you, Mr. Vercetti."

Tommy grinned and handed Jason an envelope. Inside, he found four thousand dollars. "Thanks very much, Beretto," Tommy said as he latched the case and stored it under his desk. "I'll be selling that with the Cherry Popper's ice cream sometime soon." Not long after coming to Vice City, Tommy decided to invest in businesses. He'd bought the Cherry Popper's Ice Cream Factory in Little Havana, and although they didn't sell any actual ice cream, the factory was used as a front for drug distribution.

"For now, Jason," Tommy continued, "I want you to do something else for me. Go to the Film Studio on Prawn Island, and talk to Steve Scott for me. He said he's got another movie idea, and I want to know what he's planning. If I approve the plans, I'll tell him to go ahead and make the movie. Understand?"

"On Prawn up north?" Jason asked. Tommy nodded. "The Haitians have been seen around that area recently, which is strange, since they rarely ever leave Little Haiti in west Vice City. I don't know what they want at my studio, but I want you to investigate this as well."

Not only did Tommy buy an ice cream factory, but he also bought a film studio (InterGlobal Films), Kaufman Cabs, Sunshine Autos, a boatyard, the Print Works for counterfeit money, Pole Position strip club, and the Malibu Club. Each one earned a set amount of money each day, and Tommy hired Kent Paul to collect his money for him. Not even the biggest fool would try to escape with that money instead of giving it to Tommy, because the Vercetti Gang would be all over you faster than you could blink.

"Should I go now?" Jason asked.

"I would. My people will drive you back to Links View so you can pick up your Infernus. After that, do whatever it takes to find out what the Haitians want with my film studio."

Jason nodded, turned on his heel, and swept out the door.

Ten minutes later, Jason stepped from the white Stretch and into the parking lot of the Links View Apartment. The driver hesitated, and then took off, going back for the Estate. Jason walked up the stairs and into his room. Once inside, he opened his case and unloaded everything he had. A baseball bat and a Colt .45 were his only weapons. He considered going down to Ammu-Nation in Ocean View and picking something up. He now had four thousand dollars with which to do what he pleased.

After pocketing the Colt .45 and the bat and deciding he wanted something heavier, Jason walked down the steps and unlocked his new Infernus. The engine rumbled as he started the car, and then he headed out onto the street, driving in the direction of Ammu-Nation in Ocean View. It was a matter of minutes before he got there and stepped inside.

The clerk behind the counter handed over an Ingram Mac 10 and let Jason look it over. Jason thumbed the safety and waved the gun around the shop. He reached into his pocket, pulled three hundred-dollar bills from his envelope, and handed them to the clerk. He then paid an extra hundred dollars for extra ammo clips. With a sizable amount of ammo, Jason walked back outside to his Infernus, and headed north, towards the Malibu Club. He figured he'd spend some time there before going to Prawn and talking to Steve Scott.

That night, neon lights greeted him as he pulled up the street and approached the Malibu Club. The signature palm trees were etched in glowing lights across the front of the building, and Jason pulled around back, got out of his car, locked it, and headed inside. He noticed the armed guards by the door immediately. Only a nut would try a bar fight with those guys around. Jason walked into the dimly lit dancing club, and saw a crowd of people on the dance floor.

Flashing lights whizzed by overhead, and Jason saw the band on the stage. A cop, construction worker, fireman, and some other men. Jason recognized the Village People when he saw them, but he wondered why the Indian was missing. Jason shrugged and sat down in his seat. The dancers on the floor were definitely getting their groove on, dancing up a storm. There were stragglers that stood around the edges, getting up their courage to ask someone to dance, or waiting to be asked.

Jason milled about by his table, then headed to the bar. Once at the stool, he ordered a margarita, and spun around on his chair to watch the televisions installed overhead. He was sure those installations were recent. A football game was being played, but the sound had been turned off, so it was hard to follow along. Jason downed his drink, and was about to order another one, when Taira Lopez sat down next to him.

"Been exploring the nightlife, I see," she said, her accent mildly showing through. "Having fun yet?"

"No, not really. You talked to your husband?"

"Yes, but he pretty much refused to talk to me. He lives on the penthouse just behind the Malibu, so I came here when he wouldn't open his door. Wanted to let off some steam, you know? He also owns a house on Prawn Island, but he wasn't there, either."

"I get what you're saying," Jason said as he accepted his second margarita and took a sip. "So, you very busy tonight?" he asked, somewhat of a glint in his eyes. She knew what he wanted.

"Yes, I am. I don't know how I am going to get through to my husband, and I don't know if you could help me." She flicked her brunette hair behind her neck and continued. "Maybe you should meet me at the bottom door of the penthouse, next Saturday," Taira said, smiled, kissed Jason hard on the lips, and then walked out of the club.

Jason finished off his second drink, when something happened on the dance floor. A man wearing a red shirt and jeans fell to the ground on the steps. Two men, both of them wearing blue shirts, white pants, and a white cap on their head, stared down at the fallen man and growled, "Where's our money, man? Auntie Poulet don't like waiting fer ye."

This was getting interesting. Two Haitian men out of their territory, and confronting some punk off the streets.

"I'm not who you're looking for," the man on the ground pleaded. "Please don't hurt me. You must have me confused."

One of the Haitians turned his back to watch for cops. The man on the ground moved his hand, and a gun flashed a second later. The Haitian with his back turned let out a gasp, and collapsed to the ground in a puddle of his own blood. The second Haitian jumped to the side, another shot was fired, and an innocent dancer caught the bullet.

The man in the red shirt jumped up, and leaped behind the bar, shoving the bartender roughly aside. He placed his gun on the bar to steady it, and shot the second Haitian when he looked up to check. The Haitian fell to the ground next to his fellow man, and the man wearing the red shirt sprinted for the door. He was quickly stopped by the guards, who began to question him.

"What was that all about?" one of the guards asked.

"You just killed two men, and you expect to walk out of here alive?"

"It was self-defense!" the red-shirted man responded.

"I know you!" the second guard growled. "Your name is Cam Jones! You pulled a heist at a bank once, didn't you?" the guard asked him suspiciously.

Cam Jones, whom Tommy had considered dead, was definitely getting on in years. He was nearly seventy years old, but had performed as if he was thirty. The guard moved to bust him, but Cam dodged aside and made a move for his gun. The first guard grabbed his wrist and wrenched the gun out of his hand. When it hit the ground, the gun went off, and the bullet struck another pedestrian who was dancing. After that, chaos erupted, and fights from scared peds began to break out, as they all fought each other to get out of the club.

Jason hung back as the fighting went on, not wanting to get involved. Suddenly, he felt himself jerked backwards. He yelped as someone pulled him by the arm upstairs. When they arrived in the upstairs room, Jason looked around and saw who had pulled him—Tommy Vercetti himself.

"What are you doing here, Mr. Vercetti?" Jason asked as politely as he could.

"I own this club, you know," Tommy said gruffly as he watched over the banister. The cops had arrived on the scene, and were trying to tend to the riot, but weren't having much luck. Several shots had been fired, and two bodies lay on the ground, in addition to the initial Haitians.

"As it turns out, there's more Haitians down there," Tommy said as he turned around. "I don't know what's going on in my city, but I want you to find out. The Haitians seem to be doing some dirty dealings around my studio, and why are they at the club? I want you on this, Beretto. Get to it, now!"

Jason shuffled from the club after twisting through the masses of people, and drove straight for the Links View Apartments. This needed some investigations, and he wasn't going to get that done at the club. He needed some peace, quiet, and his laptop.


	4. Chapter 3 Gunning For Haitians

CHAPTER 3—Gunning For Haitians

"No, Luigi, everything's going fine," Jason said into his telephone as he tapped several buttons on the laptop set up on the desk beside his bed. Jason's feet were resting on a bar spreading across the backside of the desk, and he was talking to Luigi Gotorelli, who was still in Liberty and curious for an update.

"Are you sure you've got Vercetti convinced? The Forellis tried to get their due money back from him, and he took out Sonny, and dozens of Mafia men, all by himself. He definitely isn't a man to be screwed with."

"I know, and I'm gaining his trust. We want him to know we're on his side, and the only way he'd agree to give us the money would be to do some jobs for him, and promise him something in return."

"You said exactly what we planned, right?" Luigi said into the telephone from his club in Liberty. "Ten percent of our income for the next ten years?"

"Actually, he turned me down on that offer," Jason said as he tapped some more on the keyboard, looking for some information on the Internet. He was researching Tommy's businesses, to find out exactly how much influence Tommy had in Vice City. "Said I had to come up with something better. He kind of put me on the spot, you know?"

"Yeah, and I take it you came up with something if he agreed to pay us?" Luigi pressed.

"Of course. I promised him a Hunter."

"A helicopter?!" Luigi nearly dropped the phone as he jumped from his seat. "Those things are being guarded at the Fort Baxter Air Force base. How in the world are we supposed to get one out of there for Tommy, Beretto? I don't care if you are family, if you screw this up—" Luigi let the threat hang in the air. He was obviously furious.

"Calm down, Lu," Jason growled, clicking away furiously. "I have a plan. I think the only way we could jack that thing would be for one of us to dress as a cop to sneak in, and for the army men to be distracted by something else."

"The old sneak and attack, eh?" Luigi seemed to be pondering this idea. "But the guys won't let you walk in the front door even if you are a cop. How are you going to get in?"

"Climb over the back wall, drop in, and act as if I belong," Jason said coolly. "I'm not sure what the diversion will be yet, but I'm thinking about it. Something with explosives." Jason leaned back and cracked his knuckles. "What do you think?"

"Jack a seven-forty-seven and crash it into something," Luigi suggested.

"You're talking crazy, Gotorelli," Jason laughed.

"Look," Luigi became serious, "you've promised the Vercetti Gang one Hunter helicopter. You'd better come up with a foolproof way of getting it to him, or your ass will be hanging out in mid-air, Beretto. The Leone Mafia can't bail you out of everything. We need the money to stop those Triads, and we need it now!" Luigi sounded somewhat pissed that Jason had offered a helicopter they didn't own, in return for money.

"Speaking of the Triads," Jason said quickly, to get Luigi calmed down, "what's going on with them? Any more news of the Shadow?"

"As a matter of fact, the Shadow was spotted for the first time...last night. He came back to his old hideout in the Red Light, and our men found him. Started gunning him down...seemed he had come for the Cheetah in the garage, and the guns he had left behind. Mafia men jumped him when he walked through the door. Must have been wearing armor under his jacket—he got away with the car, but one of the snipers shot him in the arm. He'll be in worse shape when he gets back to Staunton."

"You had him and you let him go?" Jason asked, sounding surprised. That didn't sound like the Mafia at all.

"Well, Cipriani's a little out of his league. Sometimes, we get the idea his mom's running the show more than him. I don't know what we're going to do, and no one's seen Joey for some time. He's been brooding up by his pop's mansion. Can't get him to talk to anyone but you. Unfortunately, you ain't here, Beretto."

"Enough about Joey, what are you planning on doing about Shadow?" Jason asked stiffly. "We still have him to handle. Once he's out of the picture, killing the Triads will become much simpler. Do you have any plans on how to take him out?"

Luigi sighed. "Ehhh, snipers are always on the look-out, but he ain't called the Shadow for nothing. It seems like anytime anyone sees him, he's gone in the blink of an eye, just like that!" Jason heard Luigi snap his fingers on the other line.

"You gotta find him," Jason snarled, sounding more angry than he meant to. "If you don't, who knows what member of the Mafia he'll kill next? It could very well end up being someone important—Toni, Joey, 8-Ball...or even you, Lu. We gotta find out where this guy's new hideout is, flush him out of it, and kill him without getting the cops involved. If you do, it'll make things more complicated than they already are."

"How the hell can we find someone like him? He's called the Shadow for God's sake!" Luigi growled.

"Listen," Jason snapped, making Luigi hesitate, "we're at each other's throats. Let me talk to Joey when I get back in a couple weeks, and we'll work things out. I don't know what to do besides let him run around by himself and hope he doesn't get himself killed like his old man. As for Shadow, keep the Cartel informed and make sure everything they know, you know. Shadow is a wanted man with them as well, and he'll have a hell of a time staying alive with everyone out to get him. Even the Triads are after him. If they finish him, it's all the better."

Jason hung up the phone and turned back to his computer. He swore under his breath, gazing at the screen. The only thing he could find on Mr. Vercetti was stuff he already knew—the fact that he owned eight businesses in town. Although, he did find actual lists of the businesses: Pole Position, a strip club; InterGlobal Films, an adult film studio; Kaufman Cabs, a successful cabby industry (thanks to Tommy himself); Cherry Popper's Ice Cream Factory, a drug front; Sunshine Autos, a car dealership he had bought from a retired football player; a Boatyard where he kept his two fastest boats; the Malibu, a bar and dancing club; and the Print Works, where an old man used plates Tommy got a hold of to make counterfeit money for their operations.

All in all, Jason thought it a very respectable chunk of the city. Looking at this, it was no surprise why Vercetti had turned down money as a reward for helping them out. He was wealthy beyond their wildest dreams, a billionaire, according to the news articles about him, and the only thing he didn't own was the law enforcement. That's why he wanted an Apache helicopter. Even though he might be too old to fly it himself, his estate had a heli-pad on top of it, and he could park it there.

Not only did Tommy own eight businesses, he had real estate all over Vice City. 1102 Washington Street, 3321 Vice Point, a room in Ocean Heights, a room in Ocean View, a room in Links View (which Jason was using now), and he owned the Hyman Condos. He also owned a casa in Vice Point. Also, he had his estate. Again, looking at all this, it was no wonder that Tommy refused money as his payment for funding their efforts in Liberty City.

Jason closed the website, yawned loudly and stood up. He blinked several times and glanced at the clock on his bedside table. One in the morning. He had to go to bed, and he stripped to his boxers. Within seconds after Jason's head hit the pillow, he was fast asleep.

Jason floored the pedal. He was running late for his meeting with Steve Scott. Blazing up the street at twenty over the limit, Jason was thankful it was so early in the morning—hardly any cops were out to notice his speeding. The Infernus shot left, onto a bridge and out over the water. Within seconds, he plopped back onto land again, and screeched right. Around the corner he went, and he pulled up against the curb, locking the car as he walked calmly through the gates and into the studio.

Waiting there to greet him was Steve Scott himself, Tommy's personal director. Steve was getting on in years, he was nearly fifty now, about as old as Tommy. Gray hair flew in the wind on his balding head. "This time," Scott said as he walked up, waving his arms at the sky, "we're going big! HUGE! Mounds of mashed potatoes, giant sharks, sexy girls, and—"

"Get to the point, Steve," Jason snarled. "I've got places to go, things to do, people to kill. Why in the world are the Haitians being spotted around here? Mr. Vercetti wants me to find out, if that's okay with you. Any ideas?"

"Oh sure, sure," Scott said quietly. "The Haitians are after my money. They figure they need to eliminate the Cubans right now, and if they get their hands on the money from my latest success, a movie called _Close Encounters of the Naughty Kind_, the crap'll really hit the fan. It earned millions in the box office, and I keep all my benefits with me at all times. Make sure no one gets away with—"

A Sanchez (type of dirt bike) went screeching past them, knocking Scott to the ground. Jason dodged just in time to see a Haitian riding the jacked Sanchez. He held up a suitcase, which Scott instantly recognized, "My money!", and several Vercetti Gang guys fired their guns after him, missing.

"Catch them, Jason!" Scott roared as he climbed to his feet. Jason started for his car, but a gang man wheeled in a brand new, silver PCJ-600. The sports bike gleamed in the sunlight as the polished metal bounced light in every direction. Jason marveled at its beauty for a second before hopping on and starting the engine. "That guy's probably heading for Little Haiti with my money!" Steve said loudly. "That bike's going to be used in my movie, so don't break it, Beretto!" There was a screeching, then a revving sound from over the wall and across the street.

Jason gunned the engine, dust kicked up from the wheel, and the motorbike shot out of the studio at break-neck pace. Steve was right...this baby was fast. So fast, he caught the Sanchez as it was heading over the bridge and into Downtown Vice City. Jason raised his Ingram Mac 10, keeping one hand on the handlebars, as the two of them flashed past the VCN building and headed right for Ammu-Nation. Was he going to turn, or keep going straight?

The Sanchez flashed left, heading down the main street that lead all the way down to Vice Port in the southern area of Vice City. Jason leaned, and his PCJ took the corner well. Jason aimed his uzi up for another shot, but the Sanchez swerved around a car, blocking his view. He swore under his breath and sped up. The Haitian man was getting too far away. The Sanchez was more maneuverable, and in the rush hour traffic (everyone was trying to get to work in the morning), maneuverability was highly favorable over speed, which the dirt bike had over the PCJ.

Jason was going to have to use his mind instead. The Sanchez roared right as it passed the fire department. Jason bumped onto the curb, and drove across an enclosed area to cut off the Sanchez. When the dirt bike rounded the corner and passed the pizza joint, Jason burst from bushes and landed on the street, aimed for the right. Jason had lost distance from the Haitian's bike in his own favor.

Hesitating with his gun, Jason sped up, as they were on a straight-away, and he had the advantage here. The Sanchez flashed down the road, passing the Hyman condo, and turned right. Jason pulled into the Hyman Condo's front area, streaked through, passed orange barriers, and turned left. The Sanchez came around the corner, heading right for Jason's bike. He raised his gun and squeezed the trigger. Bullets sprayed wildly from the muzzle, Jason held the gun tight as it rattled in his hand. The Haitian hadn't seen Jason coming. He screamed, thrashed like a madman, and fell from his bike as blood fountained from multiple holes in his body. The Sanchez crashed against the street, flipped on its front, and smashed right into Jason's front tire. The PCJ and Sanchez toppled to the ground, Jason managed to hit the brake, and he fell from the bike and landed hard on the pavement.

The Haitian man was moaning in pain, blood still spraying from the multiple holes on his chest and arms, although less violently now. The bullets had sprayed him right in the face as well, which wasn't bleeding as badly, but was still red and gory nonetheless. Jason stooped, completely unhurt from his fall, picked up the case of Scott's money, and questioned the Haitian man, who was barely alive.

"You couldn't have come all the way from Little Haiti to surprise us like that," he growled. "Scott would have heard the car you came in. Where are you guys hiding on Prawn? Cuz I know you are hiding somewhere, and when I find it, God help your Haitian friends."

The Haitian man spat on the ground as Jason's feet in disgust, shuddered, and died from blood loss. Jason picked up the PCJ-600, sat on the seat and steadied his case of money, then gunned the bike, heading back to the film studio where he had come.

Five minutes later, the PCJ revved back into the film studio, and Jason instantly saw Steve, hands folded, waiting for him. A clipboard was clutched in his left arm, Jason saw, as Scott unfolded his arms and came striding over.

Jason brought the bike to a halt and then stepped off, holding the case up by its handle and offering it to the director. "I got your case back," Jason grunted as Steve accepted the money. He opened it and his eyes flew across the bills.

"Excellent!" Scott said. "How did you do it?" he asked eagerly.

"Not important. Let's just say you won't have to worry about that guy anymore. There's just one thing that's bothering me, though."

"And what's that?" Scott asked as he snapped his case shut again and looked up, placing his sunglasses in his shirt pocket. "We got the money back, why are you worrying now? Tommy will be pleased to know you've done what he asked you to do. I wouldn't lose any sleep over it, you're bound to be paid highly after this."

"That's not the problem," Jason muttered as he leaned against the security guard's booth near the entrance. "We still didn't find out _why_ the Haitians were after your money, Scott, and that's what Tommy really wanted to know. That's the one thing I didn't get out of that guy before he died."

"Isn't it obvious?" Scott asked as he stepped back into his studio, followed by the Vercetti Gang boys. "It's for the same reason you came here."

"Huh?" Jason grunted, not fully paying attention as he stared at the ground, thinking hard.

"Well, look at it this way. You came here, asking Tommy for money, because your gang, the Leone Mafia, wants to get rid of the Triads, right?" Jason nodded. "Ever since Tommy came to town, and helped Avery Carrington spark the gang war between the Haitians and the Cubans, the Haitians have been wanting to get rid of the Cubans for good, and own Little Havana as well. After they knock off the Vercetti Gang, they'd rule."

"What's your point?" Jason interrupted.

"You didn't let me finish," Scott growled. "My point is," he continued, adopting a more docile tone, "is that what it all boils down to is money around here. Tommy has money, the Mafia wants money, and the Haitians want money. If any of those have money, they solve their problem. Too bad the Cubans haven't been coming to Tommy for cash—I figure he'd happily give it to them."

Jason folded his arms and stared hard at the film director. "Okay, so they want money to kill the Cubans, but how are they getting here without us hearing the roar of their car? I doubt they'd walk that long way from Little Haiti to Prawn, that'd take forever on foot."

"It's not like Tommy's never done it in his day, back when he was a big-time field guy. But if I had to guess, I'd say they're stationed somewhere on Prawn itself." Steve let this idea hang in the air, and walked quickly back into the studio building "A", wheeling the bike in after him and muttering under his breath about the scratches all over its body.

Jason walked back outside, tossed his Ingram into the backseat of the gleaming white Infernus he had been given, sat down, and started the engine. What Scott had said intrigued him, he thought as he pulled from the curb and turned around, heading for the Vercetti Estate. Perhaps the Haitians were stationed somewhere on Prawn, and he knew where to go if he wanted the most likely place to look. Tommy Vercetti would probably be able to tell him.

"Oh, I know about those Haitians." Tommy leaned back in his chair as he handed Jason an envelope. Jason pocketed it and figured he'd open it later. "You might have stopped that guy from taking my money, Beretto, but you still don't know why they were after it."

"Scott has a pretty good guess," Jason ventured. "He said they must be hiding out somewhere on Prawn Island. No other way they'd be close enough to steal things at night. Best make sure you keep the gates firmly locked. I'd post some guards just inside the entrance."

"Advice taken," Tommy said as he rested his elbows on the table. "Look, it's almost the turn of the century, and I want to keep my fortune until I die." Jason smiled, making sure he avoided Tommy's eyes. Saying Tommy had a "fortune" was like saying the Pacific Ocean was "damp." The two just undermined the truth. Tommy Vercetti probably had more money in his account than all the residents of Vice City put together. As Tommy was constantly reminding his underlings, he didn't get there on easy street. No sir, he had to _work_ to take over this town. With powerful friends like Ken Rosenberg, Avery Carrington, and Kent Paul, it's little wonder Tommy came to power in just under six months after arriving in Vice City.

"I understand this, sir, and to keep it going, I need someone to help me root out the Haitians' hiding spot. Could I take some of the Vercetti Gang along with me, and arm them with some good weaponry? They'd greatly assist me in finding the hideout."

"Agreed," Tommy said, after frowning in concentration for several seconds. "However, I want you to scout the island yourself, first, and once you suspect the location of the Haitians' lair, bust in with some of my boys. But do some sleuthing first, prove yourself to me, kid."

This made Jason laugh—he was hardly a kid. At nearly thirty years old, Jason was almost as old as Luigi Gotorelli.

"Fine," Jason said, standing up. He nodded at Tommy to indicate he knew what he had to do, and swept from the room.

An air of foreboding seemed to hang around Prawn Island. Ever since the nineteen-eighties, no one ever visited that island, except to make movies. It was a small place off the coast of Vice, and only three houses existed on the island, with a fountain in the middle that used to work.

Jason walked calmly past the statue, and stared at it. It was rusted, no longer producing water from its spouts. A chill arose on the back of his neck, and he pushed the sense of mystery on Prawn Island away from him, longing to be back in Liberty City, with the people he knew, the people that cared about him. Joey Leone, his childhood friend, seemed so far away from him now, all the way back in Liberty City, New York. Jason flicked a cigarette to the ground, pulling up his jacket and trying to shield himself from the relentless sheets of rain that fell from the skies. The light instantly went out as it hit the ground, and Jason crushed it to make sure.

Obviously, the first place to start his search was the three houses standing on Prawn. The two on the outer edges proved too run down since the eighties to be of any use. They were on the verge of being torn down. Jason figured that left the middle house to be inspected. He calmly walked up the front steps, pulled another cigarette from his pocket, and lit it as he stepped inside.

The house was very out-dated. Cobwebs hung from the walls, and odd carpet covered the residence. It obviously hadn't been used in some time, but Jason felt compelled to explore further. Wooden tables were strewn about the outside, rotting in their old age. Jason pried one of the drawers open and found stored SPANK inside it, a new drug. He snorted and slammed the drawer shut, almost knocking the table from its legs.

It quickly became obvious that the Haitians weren't using this house to hide in. After searching the main floor, the basement, and upstairs, Jason found no evidence to show anyone had even been inside the house for a very, very long time. Picking up his drenched coat from the coathook, Jason stepped gloomily back into the sleeting rain. And then, something caught his eye.

An abandoned pharmacy stood on the other side of the road. But that was not what caught his attention—there was a light in the upstairs window. Far be it from him to judge, but he doubted old pharmacies lit up by themselves. He moved calmly across the street, and approached the old building.

Faded red lettering was painted on the front, but Jason couldn't make out what it said. The only word he could read was its namesake, etched into the front of the building. It actually looked like a set Steve Scott could have used at one point, but that seemed somewhat farfetched. Jason rubbed away steam gathering on the window from the rain and peered inside. Through a crack in the wood boarding up the pharmacy, he saw a table in the immediate room, with a group of men wearing dark coats, and all of them doing something around the table. He couldn't tell what was happening, until one coat fluttered to the ground.

Underneath was revealed a man wearing blue shirt and white pants, with jet-black hair. He was a Haitian. The rest of the group followed suit, and Jason could see what they were doing—playing cards. One of the men vanished up a set of stairs near the table carrying several briefcases with him, and returned minutes later without anything. He sat down and began to play cards with his buddies. Their dialogue with muffled through the glass, but Jason could hear lots of laughing. Obviously, those scum were pleased with their night raid on the film studio. Well, as Jason had promised Tommy, he would give them a run for their money.

One Haitian man, his name was Ali Poulet, Auntie's nephew, sat back in his chair and revealed the cards he was holding to his friends. "A royal flush, you cannot compete with this, friends," he said and scooped his winnings to his place. One of his friends jumped up to protest, but Ali immediately shouted, "Shuddup, you lose fair an' square! If you can't take it, get out of this place, understand?"

The second man seated himself again as bets were placed.

A roaring fire accompanied them through the rain as they played their hands, their eyes flickering around the table to ensure no one cheated. In reality, every single player at the table was a lying cheater, but none would allow the others to find him in the act. One player even had extra cards in his favor in his shoe.

"Did you see the look on Scott's face when we took his money?" Ali laughed heartily, slapping his mate on the back. "Can't wait till Auntie lets us kill that man, eh?" The group shared another heartily laugh and drowned themselves in whiskey.

"Tommy Vercetti won't own Vice for much longer, boys!" Ali shouted loudly, sloshing his drink on himself. "We're takin' ov—"

BANG! The door fell from its hinges and slammed onto the ground. In the doorway, shrouded by the darkness of the night, was a man drenched in water. He shook the moisture from his eyes, and peered around. The shotgun with which he had unhinged the door was steady in his hands, and he snarled at them, "What's shakin', mates?"

Ali jumped up and snatched his pistol from a slot hidden under the table. He fired the gun, and the man outside leaped behind a chair to his left, hiding as a bullet smashed the glass behind him. Two Haitian men fell instantly, and it didn't take Ali long to see why—six Vercetti Gang men had poured into the room, all carrying MP5's,and let their guns rip and tear into the flesh of Ali's friends.

As for Ali, the crafty man overturned the table, sent the cards scattering, and let the table take the bullets. He returned fire, and a Hawaiian-shirt-clad man screamed and fell, hit through the shoulder.

"Come on, you pricks!" the first man yelled. "My name is Jason Beretto, get to know it, you're going to be seeing a hell of a lot more of me, I can guarantee it!"

Jason finally revealed himself in a trenchcoat, beige cargo pants, and a gray undershirt. He raised his shotgun and pulled the trigger. Ali fell to the ground, clutching his bleeding chest. "That's what you get for taking Vercetti Gang money, poor bastards!" Jason growled as he finished off the last of the Haitian men.

The team, now reduced to six, stormed up the stairs and kicked in the only door on the second floor. The tiny room had only four Haitian men in it. Jason and his buddies laid them flat after several seconds' firefight, and then Jason rapped out orders. "James, get downstairs and cover our retreat," one man rushed out, "the rest of you, gather up our loot and let's get out of here."

Coming back down, the gang found James' dead body. The Haitians had called reinforcements. Four Voodoos, cars normally driven by Haitian gang members, were parked outside, with men waiting to fire as they walked out. James had already been picked off, so Jason told everyone to go back upstairs. "We're going out to the roof. Let's move!"

They busted out a vent hatch cover and filed onto the roof. Jason slammed the cover back into place behind them and they set off across the rooftop with a purpose, moving for the south side of the island. As the other edge came into sight, Jason ordered them to jump. "Try and roll if you can," he said calmly, and he went over the edge. He rolled smoothly, jumped onto his feet, and motioned for his men to follow. Two men broke their legs, so the others shot them dead to shut them up. That left the team at three. Jason and his mates sprinted across the street, one gang man was hit through the legs and left arm, and he fell. The other two made it into the film studio and the gates clanged shut behind them.

With the money safe at the studio with Steve Scott (who awoke to meet them, since he had fallen asleep in his chair after wrapping the day's shoot), Jason doubted the Haitians would be back any time soon. And if they were, they would meet their match with the Vercetti Gang.


	5. Chapter 4 Swarm

CHAPTER 4—Swarm

Tommy Vercetti leaned forward in his chair and pulled the ringing phone from its receiver. He calmly put the earpiece up to his head and listened as he continued to type on the new computer he had just installed on his desk. "Tommy Vercetti here, what do you want?"

A Haitian voice coming through the phone caused Tommy to jump slightly in his chair. "Don't be so casual, Tommy," the voice said through the line. "And stop looking around trying to find me, you'll never be able to do it."

Tommy's head ceased moving and he flicked his eyes to the window behind him, trying to find out who was watching him. But all he could see outside was the roaring ocean, and he couldn't hear the beating of helicopter blades, which meant his tormentor wasn't flying anywhere. He quickly realized he was in a bit of a situation. "What do you want?" he snarled into the receiver. "I'm a very busy man."

"I can see that, working so diligently on your computer. My boys on Ross Island have told me that you are a highly-skilled man in what you do, but I don't know if you can resist my offer, Mr. Vercetti." The Haitian man sounded almost happy at Tommy's discomfort. "I have a proposition for you, Thomas. The Haitians need money from you to work our magic, and since we can't get it for ourselves, we want you to do it. As long as you do everything I tell you to do, you won't be harmed."

"And how do you think you can hurt me?" Tommy barked into the phone. "I can't see you anywhere."

"Ah, but I can see you, Mr. Vercetti, and I don't think you like that," the man drawled in his Americanized Haitian accent. Sometimes, Tommy found it hard to understand him because of it. "That Haitian your man Beretto killed was my brother, and even though I didn't like him very much, the whole thing still pisses me off, Tommy."

"You still haven't told me what you want," Tommy pointed out.

"Ah, yes, but first, to make sure you realize the bonds of control I have over your mansion, I will demonstrate my power."

"Your power?"

"Yes, my power. I don't think you realize what I can do. I have very powerful guns, my friend. My rifles can zoom in ten times further than yours can. And if you so much as breathe wrong," the man's voice turned ice cold, dripping contempt, "I will put a bullet through your skull and you won't even know what hit you. I have a man of my own on the gun as we speak. Please, don't force me to use him."

"Just tell me what you want!"

"The demonstration is approaching..."

One of Tommy's favorite men, a guy named Brad Jayme, walked through the door. Brad Jayme had joined the gang very recently, he was somewhat young in his late twenties, but he was a good man. Very reliable, if you needed him to be somewhere, rest assured he'd be there. He was an expert marksman and a skilled fighter. But as he walked through the door, he saw Tommy's eyes jerk wide and the boss called out, "Brad! Duck!"

The Haitian lowered his binoculars and said, "Fire!" to the man next to him. The hitman placed his finger on the trigger, sighted on his target, and held his breath. Seconds later, he squeezed, and the gun kicked against his shoulder.

The window just behind Tommy shattered and he threw himself to the floor before the sniper could fire again. A neat hole formed right in the center of Brad's chest. His eyes went wide with surprise just after impact, his body went rigid, and he fell backwards, nailed before he even knew what hit him.

Tommy crawled forward on his stomach as two more gunshots rang out and smashed a picture and a vase in the room. On the phone, the Haitian's voice could be heard, "You're surrounded, Tommy, there's no escape for you or any of your men! Give up now, and we will show amnesty! The Haitians' day has come!"

Pain shot through his skull as Tommy threw himself away from a fourth shot and knocked his head against the side table near his main desk. He pulled the phone onto the ground by its cord and clicked off the line. He dialed seven numbers and barked into the phone, "They've surrounded us, the Haitians are going to bring the Vercetti Empire crumbling to the ground."

The voice that came through was Avery's. "What do you want us to do, Tommy?"

"Anything! Just so long as the guards can't kill me!" He ran to the door, careful to stay low to avoid the sniper, and slammed both his doors closed. He locked them and then barred the way with several large chairs and tables. Anything trying to get through would have quite a bit of difficulty with that kind of obstacle in the way. Tommy opened a drawer on his desk, pulled out an Uzi 9mm. The gun may not fire as fast as some of the lighter uzis, but this one packed a wallop. He made sure he was barred in, propped himself against the wall, and waited for the worst.

On the heli-pad on the roof of the Vercetti Estate, gang men came running onto the rooftop as a blue-painted Haitian Maverick helicopter descended. A man named Travis Skinner, the same one from the airport, led the charge. Automatic weapons fire roared as both sides sprayed the masses. Eight men dropped from the helicopter, and each Haitian was heavily armored under their clothing. They took bullets like nothing had struck them, and continued to fire. Skinner clutched his leg as a burst struck it, and when he tried to regain his composure, a Haitian struck him across the face with his gun. Skinner fell to the ground and someone shot him in the face. The bullet grazed his cheek as he slumped to the ground.

The Haitians continued their attack, with six men left. The one in the lead kicked in the door and motioned his men through. He listened on his boom-mounted comm-link, hearing the following words from the Haitian underling, Ali, "I was injured by Tommy's boys on Prawn Island. If it's the last thing I do, I will make him pay for what his men did to me. No mercy on this place, kill them all—but bring Mr. Vercetti to me, understand?"

Aware that Ali couldn't see him, but not really caring, the leader nodded and responded, "I understand, sir. We will bring the leader back in one piece. Out." The line went dead, and the Haitian man motioned his forces into the building. They quickly filed in, and he followed them.

Jason Beretto pulled up in his car, having just retrieved the money from the Haitians. He had been planning on showing Tommy himself, but was startled as he pulled into the dirt driveway. Three Haitian Voodoo cars were parked out front, and several Haitian men themselves were standing around, holding shotguns and speaking into radios. The front door had obviously been kicked in, and Jason could hear the sounds of battle coming from inside. He revved the engine and floored it. The car lurched forward and sent up dirt in its tracks.

One Haitian turned and began to fire his gun, but was hit before he could move. Blood squirted up behind the Infernus as it halted. Jason snatched his Ingram Mac 10 from the seat next to him and rolled down the window. He pulled the trigger and swept the gun around the cars, watching the last three men fall in puddles of their own blood. Jason grabbed the baseball bat from his case, slung the gun over his shoulder, and proceeded into the estate.

Once inside, he knew what had happened: the Haitians had raided from the cars he had seen parked outside. Two men stood near the doors, and Jason made to deal with them. He could see others fighting up on the balcony, but they were too busy in the pitched firefight going on to notice him. Jason swung the bat as hard as he could and caved the face of the first guy. The second man made to attack, and lashed out with his gun. Jason ducked under the blow, came up with an upper-cut to the chin, and then tripped his adversary. The man's skull cracked on the wall and he twisted and fell to the floor.

Jason looked toward Tommy's office, and saw both doors slammed closed. He realized the boss had obviously locked himself in, and ceased worrying about Vercetti. Jason raised his gun and took aim at one of the men trying to bust in the door—there were three of them. The pistol kicked against the palm of his hand, and he saw one man fall, shot through the spinal cord. Another bang followed, this time to the head as Jason sprinted up the steps. He pulled out his bat and landed a blow to the third guy, knocking him flat.

Mario came running over, followed by several Vercetti Gang boys. All of them were bleeding in one place or another—Mario himself had a nasty cut on his left temple. "We have to get Tommy out of here. No telling where the snipers are. Skinner was up on the roof—" he jerked his gun up, "—but I haven't heard from him in too long. I don't like it, Mr. Beretto."

"Will you just call me Jason?" Jason snarled and reloaded his .45 as he made for the stairs leading up to the heli-pad. "I think we've managed to push them out of this place, but, from what I can hear, there's still fighting on the roof." Jason's theory proved correct, as soon as they got near the roof, gunshots and auto-fire could be heard clearly, meaning the battle was well underway. As they got topside, Jason fired his gun twice, watched two Haitian men fall, and saw Skinner on the ground.

His leg was bleeding badly, and there was a deep cut just by his left eye. He had obviously been shot but not killed. Jason leaned down, ordered some men to help him and carry him back inside. Jason straightened and fired his pistol until the ammo was gone. By this time, the roof was secure, and the last of Tommy's men sprinted back into the estate.

"Hey, Ber-eh, Jason?" Mario said as he came running up. "What made you stay to save Skinner like that? I think Tommy would leave any of us behind if it were up to him. We're kind of disposable to him, if you know what I mean. He's got it made, and we mean nothing to him."

"Mario, why don't you go shoot yourself? Don't expect any different treatment from me than what Tommy gives out. Just, go back inside and try not to swallow your tongue or anything." Jason had finally decided he didn't like Mario very much. Despite Tommy's opinions, the man seemed like a freak, and Jason frankly didn't want anything more to do with him. Seconds later, Jason arrived outside Tommy's office and watched as the doors swung open.

Tommy was in a rage. "How dare they raid my mansion! This is Tommy Vercetti they're messing with! I'm sick of this crap, Beretto! I want you to take care of it! Go into Little Haiti for me, and find a little shack owned by a woman named Auntie Poulet. You might find some answers from her!"

"You want me to go now?"

"No," Tommy said, starting to calm himself. "Get some rest, Beretto. You'll need it. I want you to break into every Haitian house until you find her. Get her to tell you what she wants from me, since she leads this Haitian crap. Find out what they're planning and how they're gonna do it. I want all the answers by tomorrow night. Swing by my mansion with this information and there might be a sweet deal for you. Understood?"

"Yeah, got it." Jason dropped his Colt .45 back into his pants pocket, shouldered the baseball bat, and walked out the door. Tommy wanted to know what the Haitians were up to? Jason was just the man for the job. On his way back to the Links View Hotel, Jason stopped by Ammu-Nation and stocked up on Colt .45 ammo, along with an Uzi 9mm. In addition, he purchased a set of body armor he could wear under his shirt. The Haitians wouldn't know what hit them.

Jason shook rainwater out of his eyes as he crossed the street and drew his Colt .45 pistol. Ever since he had returned to Vice City from Liberty, everything had been going his way. He couldn't believe his luck that the Haitians had decided to attack Vercetti's empire just now. The timing couldn't have been more perfect—and if Jason could pull this off, he would be a made man. Tommy Vercetti, the criminal owner of Vice, would owe him a huge favor. And above all that, he'd get to show that punk Mario what he could do.

As these thoughts passed through his head, all Jason's attention was focused on the house he was heading for—the one he knew to belonged to Auntie Poulet. For the past day, he had scoured Vice City, looking for answers and generally beating people up until they told him what he wanted to know. A full day's hard work had finally led him to this worn-out house, where he knew the Haitian ganglord would be waiting inside. As he watched the Voodoo car parked outside and noticed the hydraulics (it was sitting very high off the ground), he felt something hit the back of his head and his world went black...

"Mr. Beretto, you be waking up for me, eh?"

It was a woman's voice. Jason felt himself return to consciousness and his eyes fluttered open. Standing right in front of him was a huge woman with large busts and a small head. She was Haitian, and obviously Auntie Poulet. "I got a deal for you, Jason."

"How do you know my name?" Jason asked, still groggy.

"We took this from your pocket," she said, holding up Jason's driver's license. "And we also know that you work for Tommy Vercetti." Jason now noticed, as she leaned in close to him, that she was very old, probably in her seventies. Understandable, since she had been pretty old when Tommy met her back in eighty-six. Huge bags of skin hung under her eyes, and she looked very worn-out. Hard to believe she was a ruthless killer (even though she herself didn't do the killing). "Tommy is going to betray you, Jason. And we know why. You're getting to be too smart for him, and he thinks you need to be taken care of."

"How do you know this?"

"I have my ways," Poulet said as she stood and paced the room. "We tapped his lines after breaking into the estate, and now we can listen in on everything he says. He promised Skinner that if you failed on this mission, he would get the opportunity to kill you."

"Skinner?"

"Aye, Jason. The big man's gonna let Travis Skinner do his dirty work."

"Which is—?" Jason prompted as he felt some of the grogginess leaving him.

"Killing you."

"But I thought everything was going fine. Why would he want to kill me?"

"Don't ask me a crazy man's motives, Jason. But just be warned, never try to mess with me again. I know why you're here, you want to know what I've got in store for Vice City. Well, that's for me to know, and you to find out after it's already too late. So, enjoy a little rest and happy morning."

Poulet stepped aside, and another Haitian man stepped forward. He was holding a Colt M4, and planned to use it. He brought the weapon back over his head, and then struck Jason's head, knocking him out yet again. Before he slipped away, he thought he heard the following exchange:

"Is everything set?"

"Yes. Ross Island, here we come."

The heat of the following day awoke Jason from his slumber. He rolled over, felt his arm leave any kind of surface, and his eyes snapped open as a breeze caught his shirt and ruffled it. A breeze? Jason jumped backwards and realized he was lying on a building. They had placed him right at the edge, so that any movement while he was unconscious would sent him plummeting to the street below. Only a miracle he hadn't fallen.

Jason was just wondering how he would get down from the building when a helicopter flew in and roared over his head. Wind whipped up all around him and took his breath away. He shaded his eyes from the glare and saw Skinner at the controls to the helicopter. He released a rope ladder, and Jason scaled in it seconds.

"Nice to have you back, eh, Jason?" Skinner said as he reeled the ladder back in. "We got word that Poulet ambushed you not long after it happened. British guy named Paul told us around midnight, and Tommy ordered a city-wide search after they learned Poulet had disposed of you. Glad I finally found you—I was assigned to aerial work. Let's get back to the mansion, and tell all that you know to Mr. V."

The helicopter's blades roared faster and faster, Skinner pulled the helicopter into the sky, and they flew for Tommy's estate. Even though Skinner didn't notice, Jason shot the man glares all the way on the return trip. He would make sure to deal with that one sooner or later.

The comfortable armchair made Tommy's office more inviting. Jason leaned back and folded his hands behind his head as he listened to the boss speak. Several others were present at this meeting—Avery Carrington, Ken Rosenberg, Kent Paul, Mario, Travis Skinner, and Jason himself. Tommy was very angry that Jason had failed, but was willing to accept failure at least once in someone's career. He almost expected it.

"I can't let this crap go on much longer in my city," Tommy said hotly. "Those Haitians know how to push all my buttons. We can't afford to be losing money like this—protection is one thing, but we can't stop them forever!" Tommy snarled and sat down at his desk. He folded his arms across his chest and looked at the six men standing before him. "Anyone know what to do? I don't want to let these Haitians push us around. I've owned Vice for thirteen years now, why give it up to these push-overs?"

"They hardly seem like push-overs," Rosenberg said, fixing the glasses on his face. "After everything they've done here, I can't believe you can still call them push-overs."

"That's what they are!" Tommy almost screamed. "And if you can't see that, maybe you shouldn't be working with me. I don't know what it is, they have some kind of tactic that makes them sound stronger than they are."

"We know they're working to expand from Little Haiti," Jason said.

It was Avery's turn to speak, "And Mitch Baker told me he's seen them in his turf. Way out of their usual territory. If you ask me, it's getting a little out of hand."

"Agreed," Tommy said. He sat back down in his chair and wrote something down. "Has anyone heard anything about where they might be operating? Like, a section of town, some state, or anything like that? I know someone here must know something."

Jason shrugged. "I've heard them mention Ross Island several times." He massaged the gun in his pocket. "Maybe they've set up something there. Something to get their funds off the ground, or some kind of allies, maybe?"

"Perhaps," Tommy said as he picked up the phone. There was quiet for several seconds, and then Tommy talked into it. "Drake, it's Vercetti here...yeah, doing pretty fine, except for the Haitian prob—yeah, working on it. The new guy got here okay, but I..." Here, Jason wondered if he was 'the new guy.' Probably. "Anyway, Ross Island...you got anything on it?" More hesitation. "Yeah, we think the Haitians are connected with the place somehow. Maybe setting up an operation or linking with allies. You know anything?" Pause. "Uh-huh...uh-huh...yeah...no...yeah, thanks, Drake. See ya, soon." Tommy hung up the phone and looked at those sitting around him.

"Jason, Skinner, Mario...pack your bags. You three are going to Ross Island."

"You'll need some weapons," Kent Paul said, standing up from his chair and pulling out a piece of paper. "I know where you can get some. There's a shop called Phil's Place over in Little Haiti, here's the address," Paul wrote down the number, "and I know the guy that works there. Really good guy, knows lots about guns. He'll give you what you need."

"All I want you to do is buy some C4. Understand?" Tommy asked.

Jason nodded. "Got it. But what do we need C4 for?"

"Your first job on Ross Island, Beretto," Tommy replied, completely ignoring the question. "Now get packing!"


	6. Chapter 5 Welcome to Ross Island

CHAPTER 5—Welcome to Ross Island

Since they were packing C4, it was impossible for Jason and his boys to travel by plane. (Also, Ross Island had no airport.) Therefore, they traveled by train and car out to California. When they arrived there two days after leaving Vice City, Jason pulled out his cell and clicked it open. The phone rang, and then Taira's voice came through. "Can't meet you tomorrow, babe," Jason said, "got shipped out to Ross Island for a little bit. Good luck with your husband."

"Thanks, sexy," Mrs. Lopez returned, "I'll be waiting for you."

Jason clicked off the phone and returned it to his pocket. As they carried their bags out onto the California dock, a man wearing a white T-shirt and tight jeans walked up to them and said, "You Tommy's boys?"

"We're them," Jason said.

"I'm the guy with the boat. Call me Chiqo." It was obvious this man was Cuban. He had probably been hired by Tommy from the Cuban gang to escort them to Ross Island. There was no airport on Ross, only a harbor, so the only way to reach the island was by boat. The four men piled into Chiqo's cloud-white Rio and the Cuban threw the boat into drive, smoothly exiting from the California harbor.

"We'll be at the island in about three hours!" Chiqo said to them as he made his way onto the open Pacific Ocean and towards their destination. "Ain't too far off the coat, but if we had a faster boat..."

Their answer came all too soon. Two Squallos, the fastest boats in the US, came driving up alongside them. There was a Haitian driving each one, along with two gunmen per boat. They weren't far from shore, but too far already to swim back. They had to stand and fight.

"We know what you're doing, Chiqo!" one Haitian called. "And Poulet doesn't want you interfering with our plans on Ross Island!"

"Get down!" Jason yelled. As the four of them hit the floor, bullets began to fly over their heads. The reports were nearly deafening, but since they were trapped on both sides, little could be done about it. "Any ideas, Skinner?" Jason ventured.

"Not a clue. Maybe something we picked up from Phil's?"

"Rocket launchers?" Mario asked.

"No, grenades!" Jason answered. He yanked the bag open, slipped a green object into his hands, and took aim. Seconds later, he pulled the pin, tossed the object, and returned to the floor. The loud _bang!_ obviously caught the gunners by surprise. Jason watched one fall into the water and quickly get left behind, while the other screamed. Not long after, Jason saw why: his arm was burned from the explosion. Also, their boat began to sink and eventually was lost to sight.

The second boat saw the move and swerved to come around for another pass. Jason produced an MP5 from the bag and took aim. He squeezed the trigger when he was satisfied and peppered the Squallo's hull with holes. "We don't want to sink it, just take out the gunners and the driver."

"Why not blow it up?" Mario asked.

"Because if we can steal it, we'll make it to Ross Island that much faster," Jason responded as he shouldered a sniper rifle taken from the bag and looked through the scope. He held his breath and pulled the trigger. There was a loud report as the gun kicked against his shoulder, and the left gunner's head erupted in a fountain of blood. His body fell to the deck and ceased to move, although the bleeding continued.

The second gunner fired bullets at the side of the boat, hitting below the water line and continued until the gun ran out of bullets. Skinner noticed the boat sinking lower and lower into the water. Jason reloaded and fired again, killing the second gunner.

Chiqo swerved his Rio, Jason picked up the MP5 and leaped through the air. He seemed to hang for a moment over water, and then landed hard in the Squallo. The driver turned to defend his boat, but Jason swung the uzi and struck the man across his face. The driver yelped in surprise, hit the floor, and fell into the water when Jason leveled the gun at his face. "Guess he'd rather swim than go toe-to-toe with a crazed gunner," Jason laughed to himself.

Skinner and Mario jumped aboard the Squallo and began to clean it as Jason took the helm and watched Chiqo abandon his boat, which sunk seconds after he stepped off and onto the speedboat.

Chiqo took control of the boat while Jason and Mario reloaded their guns, discarded bodies, and stowed the weapons away. With their current boat, the ride was reduced to merely an hour, making for a very short wait to get started.

1999

Ross Docks

Ross Island, California

Ross Island itself wasn't a large place—simply put—but it was big enough for the Haitians to begin their operations. The island wasn't hilly, but it had everything the Vercetti Gang boys would need to foil the Haitian operations and finally return Vice City to Tommy's control. Once they did that, Jason would steal a Hunter for Tommy, get the money needed to fund the Mafia, and return to Liberty City and be a made man. So much to do, so little time.

The Squallo made a smooth landing and Jason hopped onto the wooden dock. He watched as three men marched down to meet them. Chiqo tossed Jason the rope line to secure the Squallo to the dock and Jason anchored it on a metal rod sticking from the wood. Just then, the three men approached the newcoming four and the leader held out his hand. "Good to see you, Chiqo," the Cuban man said, shaking their guide's hand. He turned to Jason, Skinner, and Mario. "My name is Rica, and I'm the owner of this harbor. Ever since we learned the Haitians moved here, my people want to reclaim it."

"For claim's sake?" Jason asked.

Rica laughed. "Aye, _por favor_, for claim's sake." He threw back his head to laugh again as the men behind him took their bags and hurried up the hill to the boathouse to register the Squallo. Several dozen people were present at the harbor, checking in to go out, or returning on some docks to the left or right and preparing to leave. "Ross Island is great for fishing," Rica said as he hurried to follow the men's pace.

"I guess so, but we didn't really come to fish," Skinner said as he slipped on a pair of sunglasses to cover his ghost-white face. He ran a hand over his bald head and scratched his short, stubby beard. "We're here to find out what the Haitians are doing and how to stop them. They gotta be getting money somehow. It's our task to find out why."

"As soon as we do that, I'm going back to Vice City."

"Ah," Rica said, "one of Vercetti's boys, eh?" He laughed, his beerbelly shaking, and said, "I guess old Tommy didn't want to come out in person?"

"He's got more important things to do," Jason responded. Mario nodded in agreement.

They finally arrived at the boathouse and Rica waved away the two men, who dropped the guests' bags by the door and moved off to help others. Rica stepped inside the house and came to face them from behind a counter on the front of the building. "So, how long are you going to be here?" He took out a pen and a clipboard.

"We don't know," Jason responded. "As long as it takes."

"I'll pencil you in for three weeks, and we'll see. That'll be two-hundred dollars, and ninety-four cents, Chiqo." Chiqo pulled out the money along with some change and handed the whole lot to Rica. "Ahh, good." Rica said. He looked up at the four men and smiled. "Welcome to Ross Island."

Luigi Gotorelli was not a happy man. He slammed the phone back onto the hook and frowned as Joey Leone and Toni Cipriani walked into his office. "Those Triads have gone too far this time!" Luigi almost screamed.

"What did they do?" Joey grunted as he took a seat.

"They boarded one of our boats coming in from the Big Apple. Had a whole shipment of SPANK in it...it was scheduled to come tomorrow morning at Portland Harbor, but thanks to our Chinese friends, that ain't gonna happen. They set charges on the Reefer and blew it up! Those bastards!"

"I come bearing some good news," Joey said. Luigi looked up and realized Joey sounded somewhat pleased. "I heard that the Cartel managed to kill Kenji Kasen. Thank God, always had trust in those guys. My contact, Vic "Fingers" Handel told me that a Cartel Cruiser came onto the roof and mushed Kenji right in front of his gang. What a sight that woulda been, you know?"

Lu nodded. "Always knew the Cartel would come through. Now we got Diablo problems, too. They claim we owe 'em some more money, and as much as I hate to say it, they're right."

"We're not paying," Toni grunted. As far as anyone was concerned, he still had control of the Leone Mafia. His word was as good as anyone's. "And if they come asking again, your men have orders to open fire. They can't afford to start a war with us, we're the Mafia for God's sake! Let them try it."

"Do we know how Jason's doing in Vice?" Joey asked.

Lu responded quickly, "Yeah, talked to Vercetti just this morning. Said they left for Ross Island several hours ago."

"Ross Island?" Joey asked. "Never heard of it."

"Neither have I," Toni confessed.

"It's a tiny place off the coast of California. Third the size of Liberty, but big enough that something's going down. For Jason to gain Tommy's trust, he has to go to Ross Island and foil the Haitians' plans to crumble the Vercetti Gang and the Cubans. If you ask me, they don't stand a chance, but Tommy's real worried about it."

"Too worried, if you ask me," Toni said. "I say Jason should have concentrated on what we really need to appeal to Tommy—a Hunter helicopter."

"Jason was told that if the Haitians weren't stopped, Tommy would never help us."

"We scratch their back, they scratch ours..." Toni said. "A whole shipment of SPANK, gone, you say?"

"You got it," Lu snarled. "What are we gonna do to get the Triads back? We can't let them insult us like this! We're gonna go down, Toni. We gotta stop this thing before it even starts!"

All three men jumped as screams could be heard coming from downstairs. Joey grabbed an AK-47 from the table and turned to find out what was going on. He eased the door open and his eyes widened in surprise as he saw what was happening down below. The Triads had finally busted in, knocking over tables and chairs in the club, and making a mess of everything inside. They had shot the bartender in the leg, his blood spilled everywhere, and moved on to the girls and guests. The girls and guests themselves were running as fast as they could for the exit, trying to get away from crazy gangsters and waving guns.

"We're taking this place over!" one Triad shouted over the roar of screaming people. "Toni Cipriani, show yourself! We know you commanded the assault on three of our ganglords! We can make your death painless and quick or painful and slow, it's up to you! Show yourself, coward!"

"They're everywhere," Joey said as he pulled back into the room and bolted the door. As he leveled the AK-47 at the door, the frame began to shake.

"Open up, hiding coward! We've come for revenge!" The door shook again as another blow came into contact with it.

"We've gotta get outta here," Lu said, shouldering an M16 and aiming it at the door. "We got the three most important people in the Leone Mafia here, and if they take us out, our empire will crumble."

"We've worked too hard to let this happen," Toni said. He picked up an AK-47 like Joey's and cocked it. "Too hard to go out without a fight. Joey," he commanded. "Open the door!"

The result was instantaneous. The door burst open, and the gunfire started. Reports echoed through the building, but none of the three Mafia men fell. Joey burst into the hallway and fired over the banister and into the club below. Countless Triads were vulnerable, and Joey picked them off one by one. "Take this, freaks!" Joey roared as he held the trigger down and swept it along the floor. Soon, his gun clicked and he was forced to reload. Toni and Luigi came out behind him and fanned out, looking for more signs of danger.

Telltale signs of Triads still remained outside. From a high window, Joey could see Triad Fish Vans—three of them—parked outside. Whether or not anyone was still alive that could whack them was still to be discovered. "We're not dead yet," Lu said. "And we're not going down without fighting back. These guys have gone too far now. It's time the Leone Mafia hit them hard and fast. Take them out in one fair sweep."

The trio of men descended the stairs only to find out all the Mafia men left in the club were murdered along with the Triads. "Maybe we could call for help," Joey suggested. "Take them by surprise before they can send more guys in."

"Good idea," Lu said as he pulled out his cell phone and clicked it open. After dialing in a number, he placed it to his ear. "We got some problems," he said into it after several seconds. "The Triads stormed the club, and everyone here's dead. The fish vans are still parked outside. Get down here in our sentinels, and take 'em out! I want to be compensated!" Luigi clicked off the phone, replaced it in his suit's jacket pocket, and ushered everyone into the kitchen. "Arm yourselves with whatever knives or cleavers you can find."

Luigi pulled a meat cleaver—the biggest one—from a rack and attached it to his belt. Joey selected a huge machete from a table and cleaned it in the sink. Toni himself opted for using a knife that popped out when you flipped the switch. They pocketed their new blades and returned to the club's main room. "I'm ruined after this!" Luigi cried as he examined the mess. "No one will want to come back here. This does it! It's time to run those Triads out of town!"

An explosion sounded from outside. Joey dashed to the window and watched the second van, on fire, slide backwards down the street after being pushed back from the initial explosions. Seconds later, the flaming truck exploded and took the third with it. Triad bodies littered the street, and Mafia men finally showed themselves, holding shotguns and walking across the street.

"The Red Light District ain't far from Chinatown," Luigi said as he allowed the Mafia boys to enter. There were around eight of them.

"I rounded up as many as I could find," the leader said. He indicated the guys behind him. "Far as I can tell, the Triad's head honcho is piss-farting about his ruined factory over at the place Shadow blew up. Want to head over there and whack him?"

"Sounds like a plan," Luigi said as he eyes the four Mafia Sentinels parked outside. "Let's go now...before they cook up anything else."

Chen Kong-Sang was the most important ganglord in the Triads. His gang all called him Sang, but for some reason, this worked to instill fear into their hearts. He wanted respect from his gang, but for reason's beyond his realm of understanding, they had let something like _this_ happen to their fish front.

"Two weeks ago," Sang started, "I left here secure in the knowledge that my factory would be safe while I was gone on business. When I return, I find out Shadow destroyed our factory, helped the Mafia in a big way, and left us almost in ruins. Not only that, but I hear the Cartel recently killed Kenji Kasen, also something I'm not happy about."

"Actually, Shadow also killed Salvatore Leone," Sang's right-hang man told him as Sang watched the smoldering wreckage of his beautiful factory. "And we never really liked Kenji, anyway."

"I didn't mind him as much as the Mafia!" Sang snarled. He began to pace as he kept one eye on the factory. "Besides, the good deed of killing Mr. Leone is not enough to redeem him from blowing up our front. Do you know how long this will take to rebuild?" Sang cried. "How much money it cost the first time, and the insurance rates? What will I tell my insurance company, eh? 'Our factory got blown up, but we'll be careful next time.' Somehow I doubt they'll go for that. The Triads are going to be finished without some form of money. It's only because I'm here that we've stayed alive."

As he finished his sentence, there was a _bang!_ and Sang's main man dropped, blood squirting from a hole in his back. "Sniper!" Sang cried, throwing himself behind a truck. The sniper had to reload, which gave them just enough time to move out of the way. Triads followed them and moved behind the vans to stay behind the cover. One member ventured out too far and was hit dead center in the forehead. His body fell and blood collected around the corpse.

"Find that sniper and kill him. Half our forces are gathered at this factory." It was true. Literally several dozen Triads were gathered at the factory, almost half their remaining force.

Around the front, a Trashmaster barreled down the dirt path at full speed and slammed right into the gate, knocking it off its hinges and over to the side. The garbage truck couldn't stop itself, it's momentum kept it going, and it slammed into the far wall, in plain sight of the hiding Triads. Joey jumped from the truck on the passenger's side as a squadron of six Mafia Sentinels pulled into the lot and eight men, plus fourteen they had picked up on the way, along with Luigi Gotorelli, stepped from the cars. Half of them leveled shotguns and the other half brought AK-47s to bear and opened fire after taking cover behind the well-armored cars they arrived in.

Gunfire began to fill the air, flying from side to side. Each Mafia man was wearing Kevlar body armor underneath their clothes, including Lu, Joey, and Toni, who remained inside his car. Joey joined Luigi behind one of the cars and added his own gunfire to the fight. Seven Triad Fish Vans were parked in the lot facing the opposing gang, meaning the huge army of Triads had much more protection than the small fire team of Mafia. However, the Mafia had more powerful weapons—shotguns and rifles—while the Triads used less sophisticated armament—handguns and uzis. Triads were also known to carry baseball bats around when they were on the streets. Mafia men hated close combat, sticking with sniper rifles and their shotguns.

Fortunately, more Triads fell from Mafia attacks than vice versa. However, the Mafia were fast running low on ammo. Just as they were considering sending a group to pick up more for the fight, a Triad Fish Van exploded. It was like the domino effect—one erupted into flames, taking out twenty guys—and the rest of them followed. Sang tried to escape in one before it exploded, but the van detonated just as he was jerking the door handle open. He screamed in agony and as his body hit the ground, felt no more.

The day was won, the Triads were defeated, and the Mafia owned Portland. Over the next several minutes, any surviving Triads scattered from the factory and ran for their lives. Where they were going the Mafia didn't care, but they followed the men on foot for simple sport, shooting them before they got in range of cops. Once the Triads reached the roads, the Mafia pulled back and watched the Triads run for their lives.

Triad Fish Vans pulled over the Callahan Bridge and into Staunton Island. Some Triads even leaped into the murky water and swam for the middle island. As he watched, Toni realized he didn't particularly care where they went after this, just that they were rid of them in Portland forever. Final death toll of the day for both sides amounted to—Mafia deaths: 34, Triad deaths: 247.

"The day is ours, boys," Toni said to Joey and Luigi as they headed for the mansion in Saint Mark's. "Enjoy it, and then in time, we'll find the Triad scum and finish them off for good."

"I assume you'll lead the charge," Luigi asked as he sipped some fine wine from a cupholder.

"Nah," Toni said as he slapped Joey heartily on the back. "I think that since the Triads are outta here, it's time to hand over the responsibility of Don to it's rightful owner. Joey Leone, welcome to Donhood."

Dropping his case onto the bed located in a small warehouse in the factory district in south Ross Island, Jason flopped down onto the bed and stared up as Mario and Skinner entered the room. "Nice place, ain't it, man?" Chiqo asked as he swaggered in and looked around. After leaving the docks in a green Perennial station wagon (provided by the boathouse people themselves for a certain rental fee), they arrived at their new hideout in the factory area of Ross Island. Comfortable place for such a cheap amount. Small hideout in the bottom of an electric company. Good place for four guys looking to stay only a couple weeks.

"A bit small for the four of us," Skinner commented as he pulled back the drapes and found the view was a solid brick wall. "Nice view," he said sarcastically.

"Works for me," Mario added as he literally fell onto his own bed. "If you guys are going to check this island out, forget about me. I'm going to sleep right now. None of that exploring stuff tonight, just wait for tomorrow."

"You wanna go check out the mall?" Jason asked Chiqo.

"Naah, I gotta get back to Cali, man," Chiqo said with a smile. "But if you ever need anything, I can be here in an hour. Don't let those Haitians give you any trouble. I'll be taking the Squallo, though. _Buenos noches_." With that, Chiqo stepped out the door, and closed it behind him.

"What now?" Skinner asked.

"Let's hit the mall. I got some gun money burning a hole in my pocket. Wanna get a good old Python in my hands again." The two of them left Mario to rest in the room. They walked quickly out the door, and Mario heard the engine start and them take off just as he drifted to sleep.

Jason parked the car across the street from the mall in the carpark and stepped into the cool night air. Pulling his jacket tight about him, Jason waited for Skinner to emerge, put on his trenchcoat, and fall into step behind him. The two of them crossed the street and Jason glanced up at the sign overhead. "Save-n-Go Mall?" he said incredulously. "That's the best they could come up with? Sheesh, these old-school places gotta go."

"I like it," Skinner said as he pushed past Jason and waited for the doors to slide open before stepping inside. The sweeping map lay before them—shining floors, department stores on either end, and smaller stores in the middle. Perfect place for them to find some new clothes and pick up armament.

"There's Ammu-Nation," Jason said, pointing towards a store almost around the corner. "I'm gonna go pick up some stuff we might need. Rag wicks, more grenades, and rockets for the launcher. Anything else you can think of?"

Skinner thought for a moment, but only that. "I want a Spaz shotgun. These chromed things the Vercetti Gang gave us are kinda crappy. Gotta get some pump-action stuff around here, Beretto. Don't forget those, whatever you do. I'm gonna get some more clothes for our stay. Who knows how long we'll be here, and I packed light."

The two of them shuffled off in opposite directions, agreeing to meet at the front entrance on the next hour and head back to the factory. Jason stepped through the threshold of Ammu-Nation and the man behind the counter greeted him. "Need to see your permit, sir," the man said and Jason pulled out his gun card. As the counter man was checking it over, two men dressed in blue and white walked into the shop just behind them. Jason heard them, glanced over his shoulder, and then did a double-take. Two Haitian men had just wandered in.

One man fired his pistol twice in the air. "We knew you'd be here, Beretto!" the man screamed. Jason picked up an M16 from the wall and fired it at the man. He dropped in a pool of his own blood. In one swift jump, Jason vaulted over the counter and pulled the salesman down with him. Uzi bullets sprayed over their heads as the remaining Haitian fired. Some security guards began to take notice and came over to investigate.

"Don't provoke me!" the remaining guy called. "You killed my friend, it's personal this time."

Jason stood up and fired his gun into the man's chest. "Want me? Come get me!" The man gurgled as blood flowed from his body, and Jason fired a _coup de grâce_ as he exited the door and left the gun salesman in total shock. Two men fired at him from above, and the only thing he was thinking was, _Why can't I just go to the _mall_ without being shot at?!_ Quickly, he raised the gun and returned fire, dropping both men in seconds.

Coming from Penney's, Skinner snarled, "How do they find us so fast?"

"I don't know," Jason returned. "But let's get outta here." The two of them sprinted from the mall, got into their Sentinel, and floored it all the way back to the factory hideout.

As soon as Jason returned, he knew something wasn't right. Deep down in his gut he knew something bad was going to happen to them. He couldn't explain it, but maybe he didn't want to. Call it instinct, call it whatever you liked, but Jason knew something was amiss. After pushing the front door open, he moved into Mario's room and saw what had happened. "They know where we're staying," he said calmly. Skinner entered the room as well and saw Mario's bloody body, shot to death on his own bed. He probably didn't even wake up to know he was dying.

"A note," Skinner said and picked up a crudely scrawled message laying on the bed beside Mario's bloody body. When he scanned it, Skinner realized Jason's suspicious were correct. "They do know we're here, and where we're staying."

"If they know we're staying here, then why did they—?"

Jason never got to finish his sentence. "We didn't leave," a Haitian man said as he stepped from behind the half-closed door and leveled a shotgun. Another man emerged from the closet and a third came from the bathroom. "We've got this place surrounded, boys. You ain't going anywhere. We gonna take you to see Ali, he be happy to get his hands on two of Vercetti's men. Come with us...we show you loooong night..."

His head was throbbing, his throat was parched, and he couldn't feel his arms or legs. Jason blinked several times to clear his head as his vision began to fade back. He looked around the room he was being held in—gray cement, totally bare except for the chair he was roped to and the chair in front of him, where Skinner was also tied. Travis was still unconscious, but Jason could see the man was still alive. His chest was moving up and down, and sometimes he would fidget while his eyes moved rapidly under their lids.

Jason coughed, blood spattered the floor, and he realized he was completely unarmed. Every weapon he was carrying before they had been captured was gone, even the knife in his sock. They had obviously searched him before taking him to wherever he was now. Jason shook his head to clear his thoughts, but still couldn't figure out how the Haitians knew they had come.

Then it hit him. The Squallo Chiqo had left parked at the harbor. Haitians on the island probably recognized it as their own, and since none of the gunmen or drivers had returned from trying to kill Vercetti's men, that meant they made it to the island. But the one thing Jason couldn't figure out was how the Haitians found out where they were staying. The only people that knew were him, Skinner, Mario, and...Chiqo! That rat must have sold them out. He was probably captured on his way out of the bay and tortured until he told them what they wanted to know.

Just then, the door swung open and in sauntered Ali, followed by three more Haitian men, all of them armed with uzis. "Welcome to Ross Island, indeed," Ali said with a wide grin on his face. "I see Mr. Skinner is still knocked out, eh? That tranq must have been stronger than we thought."

"How did you find our hideout?" Jason asked calmly.

"Please, Mr. Beretto," Ali scoffed. "It was a simple matter of killing the boathouse owners and replacing them with two of my own. You think they didn't hear where you were staying, Jason? Well, obviously not. But don't worry, Chiqo didn't rat you out—if that's what you're thinking." He laughed a throaty, uproarious laugh that made Jason wince in pain. His ears still pounded on the side of his head.

"Tommy Vercetti doesn't want you anymore, Jason," Ali sneered. "Told me so himself. When I mentioned to him that you were captured, he said forget you, he'd scrap this whole Ross Island business and take what he still had. The Haitians' day has finally come, and when the war on Vercetti erupts full-force, he won't know what hit him." Ali pulled a newspaper from his pocket and unfurled it for Jason to see.

The headline was an announcement that a military Rhino had been stolen from Fort Baxter Air Force Base out in Vice City. They didn't even see it coming, but the Vercetti Gang was known to be the blame. "Vercetti! He stole the Rhino?!"

"Of course he didn't, you fool!" Ali scoffed. "I did. I dressed in police clothes, stole the thing from right under their noses. It's parked down in the garage of the car dealership, in an armored area so none of those army fools can take it from me. There's a ship coming to dock in at the harbor, big oceanliner. It specializes in metal manufacturing. If I hand them the tank and give them enough money..."

"They'll manufacture hundreds of tanks for you to unleash on Vice City," Jason said, amazed he had already uncovered what Ali planned to do. "That's why you were trying to steal Tommy's money! Make him a poor old fool, and crush him with his own riches. You needed the cash to pay for all those tanks, and that's why you came here."

Ali was smiling widely now. "Finally, it all makes sense, doesn't it? This oceanliner's company also has one parked in Liberty City. Deliver them a vehicle, and they can hand one over as many times as you ask for it." Ali laughed loudly in that same, scratchy manner. "Do you know where you are?" Jason didn't say anything. "You're in the basement of my food manufacturing company, Little Haiti Goods, and I don't know if you've figured this out already, but the only reason we make food is to overprice them, sell them to the Save-n-Go Mall, take the money we earn, and use it to buy tanks. The plan is fool-proof. And the reason we're succeeding is all thanks to _you_!"

Jason blinked. "Me?"

"Of course, my friend! You were most helpful while you were sound asleep. We gave you a serum that would wake you up somewhat, but not totally. Put you in a dreamy state where you were unable to lie. You told us everything we needed to know—Tommy's friends, his enemies we can use against him, his strengths, weaknesses...everything we need to know to destroy him and cripple his criminal empire."

Jason stared at the floor and wondered what Tommy was going to do to him.

Another man walked in and Ali spoke to him quietly. "Boss," the new man said as Jason struggled to hear him. "the Securicar you wanted is on its way. The money will be loaded up tomorrow and sent on its way by noon."

"Make sure it gets where it needs to be," Ali responded, equally as quietly. "Nick will be very angry if the next payment doesn't come in." Ali waved the man away and turned back to Jason. "Now that you know my dirty little secret, I can't very well allow you to leave here a free man, so I think a few days in the basement will do you some good." Ali turned to leave and passed by Skinner's chair, where the man was still unconscious—or so it seemed.

Jason had to give the man props. He knew what he was doing. As soon as Ali walked by, Skinner's eyes flew open, the ropes fell from his body, and he punched Ali right in the face. The Haitian gasped and stumbled backwards as Skinner took his weapon and spun to face the guards. Three quick shots of the handgun, and they all lay dead on the floor.

"When did you wake up?" Jason asked as he stooped and grabbed a fallen uzi, along with the dead man's extra ammo. "I never saw you move."

"I was awake before you were," Skinner replied as he took Ali's extra ammo. "Just waiting for the opportune moment. We have to go now, someone will have heard that noise. I know the way out of here—I was awake the whole time when they brought us down. They thought we were out, but I stayed up when they tranq'ed us. Lucky, I guess."

"Strong resistance to knock-out?"

"Been that way forever," Skinner said as he led the way out the door. The two of them sprinted down the hallway, turned a corner, and burst through a door. Just ahead of them was an elevator. Skinner sprinted faster and began to hit the buttons frantically. Two Haitian men came around the corner, one of them raised an AK-47 and shouted for Skinner and Jason to halt. The elevator doors opened, Jason backed inside to follow his companion, and the doors closed before either Haitian got anywhere near the elevator itself.

When the elevator chimed again, the pair stepped out, hurried down another hallway, and burst through two double doors. Expecting to see Haitians coming after them, they were surprised to see they were in a supermarket packing area. Conveyor belts ran every which way, making for a very confusing layout. Obviously the workers understood it, and since they weren't Haitian, Jason and Skinner tried to mingle with the crowd a little bit.

That was until a Haitian ran onto the catwalk overhead and fired his gun at them. Jason dodged and the Haitian shouted, "Stop those guys!" At full speed, Jason and Skinner flew through two double doors and came into a storage area. One guy on a forklift turned to confront them, but Skinner raised his gun and fired, hitting the man in his chest. After uttering a scream, the man fell backwards from the lift and didn't move.

"Through that door and outside!" Skinner said as they pushed through another set of swinging doors and found themselves outside in an alleyway. Skinner looked right, spotted a fire escape, and motioned for them to move to it. "Head up that thing, Beretto! After you!" The pair shimmied up the fire escape's ladder, onto a platform, and then onto another ladder, heading for the roof.

Three Haitian men, followed closely by Ali, burst from the building and spotted the pair racing for safety. "Shoot them!" Ali ordered. Three assault rifles came to bear and the gunmen opened fire, just as Jason and Skinner neared the roof. Skinner hesitated, turned, and fired his pistol. One of the men dropped.

"Nice shot!" Jason said as he gripped the edge of the roof and started to hoist himself over.

"I never miss," Skinner replied as sparks from bullets erupted around them.

When Jason's feet hit the roof, he pulled Skinner over and the ghost-white man moved toward a vent shaft. "Well," Jason started, "we're on the roof, but what are we gonna do now? We're wanted men, Skinner, the cops _and_ Haitians are after us! There's no way to escape them, and no way to get back to Vice City."

"I had Chiqo stash some weapons up here before he left, just in case we needed them."

"Convenient," Jason commented as Skinner pulled a gym bag full of weapon from its place. He pulled out an AK-47, along with some ammo, and thrust them into Jason's arms. Jason immediately loaded his gun, cocked it, and watched Skinner produce a sniper's rifle and move toward the edge of the roof. "Looks like we're gonna have a hard time getting out of here," Skinner said as he looked through the scope. "The road leading out is gated off, with a fence going around to the edge of the island."

"What about the fire escape?"

"Cover it," Skinner said as he continued to watch.

Jason moved over and saw two Haitians climbing the ladder. "They're coming." He raised the rifle, aimed at the bolt holding the fire escape to the building, and fired. The bolt shattered and fell off, making the ladder and platform creak. Jason fired at the other bolt, and the whole escape fell away. Haitian men screamed as they fell, and Ali barely made it away in time. Jason pulled the pin of a grenade, and tossed it down to the alley below. When it exploded, the shrapnel killed the surviving Haitian, and made Ali back off even more.

"Cowards!" Ali screamed.

"What are we gonna do now?" Jason asked.

"Remember that Securicar they mentioned?" Jason nodded. "Well, I bet even you heard them say that Nick isn't going to be happy if the next shipment of money doesn't get delivered. We still have the C4 from Ammu-Nation. What if we used that to stop the van and make sure Nick doesn't get his money?"

"Nick must run that oceanliner business."

"Exactly. Stop the money, and we delay the tanks going to Vice to end Tommy's control over the city."

"I like it," Jason said as he reloaded and cocked the weapon he was holding. "But how can we stop it without being seen? We'd have to be in the sewers or something."

"Exactly," Skinner said with a grin.

Jason groaned and Skinner laughed. "Let's move, before they find us."

Skinner handed Jason a hand grenade. "When it blows the first time, you rush in there, open the doors, and torch the money with this. I'm going to let you do it to prove yourself to the Mafia, Jason. Don't screw this up."


	7. Chapter 6 Betrayal

CHAPTER 6—Betrayal

Pain was his only world. He gasped, sucking for the beautiful thing which was life, the inescapable air around him. And yet, as hard as he tried, it would not come. He could not make it, and the terror began to wrap around his numbing mind. Again, the shock was delivered to his body, and he screamed, and screamed, and screamed, but the only one to hear him was the one that was causing his pain. Thunder erupted over his chest, and he yelled, cursed, and raged. Unfortunately, the man standing before him only smiled, and moved in with the padded evil once more.

Bloodshot eyes scanned the room he was in. Chained by the wrists to the ceiling, this was what he had known for the past four days. Nothing but pain, torture, knowing all too well that at the evil one's whim, his life would be ended. He felt the surge of energy flow through his bare body again, and he screamed for all he was worth. He had already gone hoarse in the time he was captive. Pain was the only thing he knew, that and the man standing before him. The one that held all the power. The one whose neck he would snap if he ever got the chance.

It all came back to him in a flash.

_Skinner was in position. Crouched atop a large building across the street from where Jason hid in an alley, Skinner mounted the scope and looked through it. He was watching the Securicar come rumbling down the road. Tommy Vercetti's entire fate rested on the man with the gun._

Pain hit him again, and he screamed once more. This was utter terror like he had never known. How could one man be in such torture while another stood there and smiled like it was no big deal? How could one sleep at night? His mouth hanging open, the man panted like a dog, gasping for breath, and he finally sucked in the first bit. His lungs had recovered in the brief respite from their constant shocks. The electricity was getting to him.

_Thumbing off the safety, Skinner watched the truck come down the road. He motioned to Jason, nodded, and signaled all was clear. No cops around. Perfect. On the control device were two buttons. One was the initial explosion which would send the Securicar full of money into the street partway. The second would blow the outer ring of C4 and drop the van into the depths of the sewer. One push, and the mission was done._

He could see it through the stars bursting in front of his eyes. The device was plugged into the wall next to a hose. To intensify the pain, the Haitian man would hose him down, and then electrocute him with the padded horrors. When he became too dry, the stingingly powerful hose would be used again. Over the past four days, the man had noticed a pattern in the way this Haitian worked, and he was about to use it to his advantage.

_Noticing the fact that the streetlight wasn't going to make the truck stop, Skinner aimed at the light and pulled the trigger. He felt the rifle kick against his shoulder and watched the traffic light shatter. The driver of the Securicar was startled and halted just where he needed to be. "Now, Jason!" came Skinner's voice. The explosion startled him at first. The Securicar sank into the street, preventing it from leaving. They had to be sure the money couldn't be recovered before they dumped it into the sewers. Earlier, Skinner had lined the sewers with their C4, providing a perfect trap. As soon as the Securicar fell into the trap, Jason rushed forward, grenade in hand, and flung the doors open._

"I'm gonna f--kin' kill you!" Jason howled as the pads were pressed against him again. Energy raced through his body, not enough to kill him, but enough that it hurt more than anything else Jason had ever experienced. How could Skinner do this to him? "And I'll take Ali with me! Straight to hell, you bitch!"

_Jason threw open the doors and peered in at all the money. Shame they couldn't have kept it. Just as he was about to pull the pin from the grenade, he heard something move behind him. When he spun around, he saw Skinner standing there with his arm outstretched and a Colt .45 pointed right at Jason's chest. "You're getting to be too hard to control, Jason," Skinner sneered. "No one wants you. The Mafia don't trust your ego...think you own us all. I've been ordered to take you out." Moving swiftly, Skinner grabbed the grenade, and pulled the trigger before Jason could protest._

As the man neared him, he leaned down to clean any clogs from the drain under Jason's bare feet like he always did. Before he had been tortured, Jason's weapons had been taken, as well as his clothes. A thin pair of sweatpants with a white string on them was all he wore now.

Before the Haitian man knew what hit him, Jason reached out with his legs and wrapped them around the man's neck. Panicking, the man dropped the electric device and struggled to free himself. Jason spun his whole body and snapped the man's neck. Lifeless, the body fell to the ground. Using his feet, Jason flipped up and pushed the chains from his hands. Landing on his back, Jason took a moment to recover. When he found he could still breathe, he stole the man's blue shirt, and looked down at the eyes staring up at him.

_Jason fell backwards into the van and slid toward the money. "Nooooo!" he cried as Skinner pulled the pin of the grenade and tossed it in. Skinner hit the button on his own device, the truck and money both exploded, and Jason fell into the sewer. Having been protected from both grenade and the fall by his excellent choice of Kevlar, Jason was found mere minutes later at the bottom of the twelve foot drop by a Haitian man._

"Please don't kill me," the Haitian man begged.

"Like hell," Jason snarled. He grabbed both electric pads and placed them on the man until his skin turned brown underneath. Even then, Jason didn't remove them, and finally jabbed the man's eyes out with his own knife.

With a speed he would never have thought himself possible, Jason unplugged the device, and took more of the man's clothes. After tying the laces of his new shoes, he tried to handle on the door and found—as he had thought—that it was locked from the outside. He stepped back, pulled up one foot, and slammed it where the bolt stuck into the wood paneling. The deadbolt broke through the wood—shattering it in the process—and Jason saw the shadow of someone standing to the right of the door.

_He was shortly thereafter brought into Ali's place of residence, into the basement, where he was having this treatment given to him. They didn't want any information in particular, they just loved to hear him scream for making them lose their money._

In one swift movement, Jason grabbed the barrel before the man could react and smashed the back of the gun into the man's face with a single jerk. Before the guard could retaliate, Jason drew the knife and rammed it into the man's stomach, while using his hand to muffle the cries of pain. Anger welled up inside him, and he delivered an uppercut which knocked the man to the floor. Several seconds of searching landed Jason with an assault weapon and several extra clips of ammo. He ejected the half-full magazine and clicked a fresh one into place, pocketing the others. On the downed man, Jason also found a hand grenade. He took this as well.

Down the hallway ahead, Jason opened the door and found four Haitian men playing cards in the small room. A single light hung from the ceiling, and they didn't even look up as he entered. Ignoring the splinters in his foot, Jason leveled the assault rifle and opened fire. All the rage and fury built up from the past few days rose inside of him, and one could literally see the anger fill his eyes. The very thought that these people had been playing cards, laughing, having a good time while he was experiencing torture made adrenaline flow through his veins.

Breathing heavily, Jason watched the last man fall, and moved further into the room. In here, he stole some shoes and two more hand grenades. He also found a Colt .45 and more clips for his rifle. The door on the left wall was locked, and Jason didn't want to waste ammo (or get any more splinters) to open it. His foot was already throbbing, much like his whole body from the four-day torturing.

However, there was a ladder in the corner with a trapdoor at the top. This place must be where they hid things from the cops. Sure enough, when he scaled the ladder and pushed on the lid, he found himself under a carpet.

The room looked very fancy. There was red carpeting everywhere, with vases and paintings by Da Vinci, and cases full of books. There was even a grand piano by a huge stained glass window. Jason looked out a clear portion of the window and found what he was looking for—a Haitian Voodoo was parked out front. Two of them, to be more accurate, and he wanted those to get him out of this place. Moreover, neither of them were guarded.

Jason started a bit when the door to his right flew open and two men came running in. Before he even knew what was happening, Jason opened fire, shattering two vases full of water in the process. One man went down, but the other dodged behind a satin sofa, now peppered with bullet holes. Jason tossed a grenade over the couch, watched the whole thing explode, and ran straight for the stained glass window.

Two more men came flying into the room as Jason flew through the air. He pulled the trigger, shattered the glass, and flew through the opening. Both man came to the window and opened fire as Jason hit the ground, rolled, and vanished behind one of the cars.

"Jason's getting away!" one man called as he reloaded his gun. Ali came running into the room looking panicked.

"Stop him! He can't get back to Vice City with what he knows!"

Jason couldn't help but think that even if he got away, where would he go? According to Skinner, no one wanted him anymore. Not the Mafia, not the Vercetti Gang, who would he turn to for business? Maybe he could strike a deal with Taira Lopez? Sounded like something to try and pursue.

Using the assault weapon like a sledgehammer, Jason shattered the glass in the window and climbed into the car. It took merely seconds to hot-wire it, and he put the pedal to the floor. Gravel sprayed up behind him as the car lurched forward and took off like a bullet. Three men ran from the main door to the Haitian Mansion and opened fire. The back window shattered, and Jason reflexively ducked to avoid being hit.

A large iron gate loomed ahead. Jason didn't know if he could break through, but it seemed like it was worth a try. Gunning the engine, Jason pushed into fifth gear and braced for impact. Unfortunately, metal was stronger than that of the car, and the car halted. Jason, who had forgotten to buckle himself in, kept going. Right through the windshield, through the bars of the gate, and onto the street. A quick inspection told him he wasn't cut by the glass, a miracle in itself. He hit the ground running and sprinted down the hill, away from the mansion.

Gasping for breath, but not having much luck, Jason sprinted into a side alley, attracting stares from many civilians. At this point, he didn't care. He was free of that nightmarish place, and vowed to never return again. He didn't know if he could keep that promise, but he promised to try his best.

Although he was free, he wasn't out of the woods yet. Every Haitian man on Ross Island knew what Jason Beretto looked like, and they would be out to get him. He had to make it off the island, get some help, and come back to exact his revenge. After Ross Island was his, Tommy Vercetti and Toni Cipriani would have to pay for betraying him. They would both be punished for what they did. Jason would make sure of that.

He used to have some compassion in his heart, one iota of mercy left in him from all his past years of serving the family. Now, after being betrayed by everyone he knew, the only one man he thought he could trust shot him, he had nothing left. The bullet wound had been bandaged, but poorly. The Haitians didn't want him to die just yet. He would have to get fixed up before continuing with the job. His heart had frozen over, and he had no mercy for those that stood in his way. None at all.


	8. Chapter 7 The Real Deal

CHAPTER 7—The Real Deal

The helicopter came in low over Starfish Island, blades whipping at the sky in a steady tempo. Travis Skinner was leaning out the open window, feeling the wind whip his face, and watching the Vercetti Estate come closer and closer on the horizon. Eventually he could make out Tommy Vercetti standing on the heli-pad with several of his gang members.

"Take us in," Skinner told the pilot, who nodded and obeyed.

When the runners hit the roof, Skinner pushed open his door and jumped out. He was carrying a gray suitcase and swinging it happily. "I got some money for you, Tommy!" Skinner called over the roar of the helicopter as it began to power down. When it was shut off, Tommy came over and ordered his men to open the case. The whole thing was filled with unmarked hundreds. Tommy smiled and looked up at Travis.

"You've done better than I thought you would," he told his hitman. "Where's Jason?" Tommy asked, looking around for Skinner's teammate.

"Oh," Skinner said, looking at the ground. "I left him back on Ross Island. He said he had some unfinished business to take care of. Told him I'd go back for him in a week."

Tommy pondered this for a moment and then nodded. "Fine. Just get the money inside and I can tell you what I want you to do next. By the way, did Jason leave a number we can reach him at?"

Skinner hesitated, then shook his head. "No, he told me his minutes are all burned up." Skinner smiled inwardly and then continued. "But he said he'd call within the week. He accepts no calls between now and then. Whatever he's doing, it's urgent."

"Fine, fine," Tommy said, waving a hand in dismissal. "Just tell me when he calls back. Anyhow, what I want you to do is get down to the docks at ten o'clock tonight. I got a _huge_ shipment of SPANK coming in from Liberty from the Mafia boys, and I don't want them to be kept waiting. Get down there, on time, and pick up the drugs for me. Come back with them, and leave 'em with my boy, Vic Handel. Call him Fingers, though, he don't like Vic too much. Bring it back tomorrow at eight in the morning. No screw-ups, Skinner, I mean it."

As they entered the estate, Skinner responded, "Whatever you want, Tommy. Whatever you want."

Without much regard for the law, Skinner flashed down the main highway on the right side of West Vice City in his Infernus, loaned to him by Tommy Vercetti himself. After stopping at the pizza joint and picking up several slices, Skinner headed for the docks, jamming to the blasting radio tunes. He was listening to Vrock, which now had a new host, ever since its old host, Lazlow, had been kicked off and moved to a phone-in station airing in Liberty.

The engine revved and Skinner glanced in his rear-view mirror. After making sure no one was in his way, he changed to the right-hand lane, preparing to enter the docks area. He would enter Viceport, go around the bend, and the dock entrance would be on the right. Viceport came up ahead, and Skinner pulled through the open gates and into the docks.

Skinner slammed the door closed as he stepped out. The car fell silent as the keys were removed and Skinner was plunged into darkness. Save for the light on inside the boathouse, the night was pitch black.

Minutes later, there was a roar of a boat engine. Skinner gazed out to sea, removed his sunglasses, which he always wore regardless of the time, and spotted a Squallo pull up to one of the docks. Two men hopped onto the dock and tied their boat up. A third hauled several cases from the boat and walked toward Skinner.

"You the Mafia boys?" Skinner asked as he stepped forward and lit a cigarette.

"That's us," the man holding the cases responded. "You got the money, we got your SPANK, man. Just make this an even exchange. Drop the money in the middle, and we drop our drugs. Don't want no funny stuff, man. We need the money, you want the drugs, it's all very simple."

"Agreed." Skinner dropped the case he was carrying and pushed it towards the Mafia men. They clicked it open, scanned the money to make sure it was, in fact, the amount promised, and, finally satisfied, handed over the drugs.

"This will help us, man. You make sure Tommy knows how grateful we are."

"Oh, he'll know."

As the men turned to go, Skinner opened the door of his car and pulled something from the inside. One Mafia man turned to see what he was doing, just as Skinner slammed the door and cocked a Colt M4, leveling it at the man's chest.

"What the—?" Skinner sprayed bullet's into the man's chest, killing him. The remaining two men realized what was happening and produced two handguns they had been hiding. Jason fired several rounds before either man could get off a single pop. One man went down, and the other was hit in the shoulder. He fell backwards into the boat and sprawled on the seat resting by the side.

Skinner loomed over him and flicked the cigarette into the water after taking a final puff. The Mafia man was trying to get a hold of someone on his cell phone, but Skinner canceled that. He swung the gun like a bat and caved the man's skull in. After dumping all three bodies into the water, Skinner loaded the money and drugs onto the boat, inserted the keys he had stolen before disposing of the bodies, and started the engine. When the boat was untied using his knife, Skinner pushed off and drove away into the night, leaving three dead men and the Infernus behind.

PFC James Kane had been on-duty for the past eleven hours at Fort Baxter. Shouldering the M60 he was carrying, he looked down from the guard tower his position held him to and watched the midday sun blaze overhead. He had started late evening the night before, and he would be relieved when his shift ended in an hour. A two-day vacation sounded somewhat along the lines of his fancy, and he was greatly looking forward to it.

Kane halted in front of the railing as he propped the two-man gun against the wall. Looking down over the streets, all was silent. But then he saw something that made his pulse quicken. Two men were getting out of a white Perennial that was parked across the street. They were both wearing green jumpsuits and white hockeymasks. One of them cocked a Colt Python, and the other loaded a clip into an MP5 he was carrying. The man with the Python also had a single-shot sniper's rifle slung on his back. The man with the MP5 had a Ruger in the same position. They also had a ring of grenades—each holding around six—strapped to their chests.

LT Jamison came tramping up the steps and smiled at the private. "I'm relieving you early, Kane." Kane tried to speak as both men drew closer, but no sound came from his mouth. The one holding the sniper's rifle drew the gun and took aim through the scope.

Kane tried to talk again and the LT smiled. "Little exasperated, I can imagine. But don't thank me now, just make sure you know you owe me a favor." As the Lieutenant finished talking, there was a crack of gunfire and the LT's head exploded. Kane gasped and jumped backwards as the body hit the floor and blood flowed freely, pooling around his feet. In his mind, he could hear the rifle reloading as he leaped backwards and saw the second round hit the wall behind where his head had been seconds before. Before Kane could punch the alarm, sounds of gunfire echoed from below.

Two PFC's had seen the men coming and opened fire. They were too well-armed to be normal citizens. Both men took cover behind their car and returned fire. The man with the Ruger hit one of the army men, who collapsed and died on the spot. The second army officer jumped behind the cement wall and reloaded his gun.

The army wasn't taking any chances on these two clowns. They obviously knew what they were doing, and if a firefight erupted, innocent bystanders might be hurt. The ranking officer at the base, Lieutenant Major Haverson, ordered a complete assault on both men. But by the time an attack was made, one of the assailants was gone. It was the man with the MP5 and Ruger who was still hiding behind the car and opening fire.

Just then, there was a roaring sound, and a huge Packer came flying up the road just west of Fort Baxter Air Force Base. The driver was the second armed man, and he spun the wheel and smashed into the red-and-white barrier at the entrance. Army men opened fire at the truck, but a grenade flew from the driver's window and exploded, blowing up two men and injuring a third. The Packer collided with the fence across the open yard and knocked it right over. Rumbling ever onward, the truck smashed into the rear wall and came to rest, right next to a gleaming Apache attack helicopter...the Hunter. The vehicle was the only one of its kind in Vice City, and it soon became obvious both men really wanted it.

The man jumped from the truck and brought his Python to bear, killing three men in rapid succession.

From the guard tower, Kane shouldered his M60 and took aim. He was trying not to hit the Hunter, but the man with the Python was hiding behind some piled sandbags near the helicopter, making it hard to get a clear shot.

His accomplice, the one with the Ruger and MP5, came into the Fort through the front entrance and opened fire with both guns. Sandbags exploded, spraying the filth inside all over the base. Wood equipment shattered like the brittle objects they were, as the man ducked outside again to reload both guns. A grenade flew over the wall, rolled under a man advancing on the corner, and blew him sky-high.

It was then that the third man made himself known. He jumped onto the rear wall, wearing exactly what the others were but holding a rocket launcher, and opened fire. Four men were blown up in the blast, but it was now that the military began to get serious. Eight army men opened fire with their powerful machine guns, ripping into the sandbags and pumping the man behind them full of lead. His Python and sniper's rifle both hit the ground, blood flowing away from his body.

On top of the guard tower, Kane hit the trigger on his M60, hitting the man with the rocket launcher. He gasped for air as hundreds of rounds entered and exited his body. The rocket launcher hit the ground inside the base, but the body fell backwards off the wall, vanishing from sight.

With only one man left, the military were getting somewhat confident. They had been holding back until the masked madmen started cutting down their numbers too significantly to let it go on. They had to either kill—or be killed.

The man behind the wall spotted the car across the street and was about to make a break for it when he heard the sound of police sirens in the distance. They were coming for him. Also, he remembered the guard on the tower that killed his buddy. Well, that wasn't going to happen to him. Someone had to escape and report on the defenses of the Fort, and he vowed that he would make it.

He lobbed a grenade over the wall, waited two seconds, and then made a break for it, running backwards. The Ruger hit his shoulder, he prepared to pull the trigger, but the man on the tower was faster. Kane opened fire a second time, peppered the man with bullets, and watched his body hit the ground.

Lieutenant Major Haverson walked into the road, gun on target with the shot man, and took careful steps closer. Behind him, two PFCs came out onto the road, guns also drawn, and followed their leader. Haverson knelt beside the pockmarked man and started to pull off the mask. Before he could do so, the man jumped up, drew a shotgun he had stashed earlier behind the Fort Baxter sign in a duffel bag, and fired. The Lieutenant Major was blown off his feet, five holes punched through his chest. As his corpse landed with a thud, the masked man ducked under the PFCs bullets and fired again. This time, the single shot took down both privates, who were standing too close together.

Responding immediately, guards on both towers opened fire. It was the Kevlar body armor the man wore that protected him as he sprinted for the car and rolled behind it. Guards fired this time at the car, which eventually caught on fire. The masked man jumped away just as the vehicle exploded and sent bits of metal everywhere.

Several guards watched the man and started to fire again. However, the man shouldered his Ruger and squeezed the trigger. Two military officers fell to the hail, geysers of blood fountaining from their bodies. Kane watched this with disgust as he trained his M60 and hit the trigger. The round of bullets hit the man in the face, shot blood everywhere, and the man collapsed, actually dead this time.

Military officers came out to look at the body, and all three were eventually sent to the authorities for investigation. As it turned out, none of the three bodies were identified, hinting that they possibly had no family, and that a certain gang was involved.

"Earlier this afternoon, Fort Baxter Air Force Base was attacked by three unknown assailants. One was wielding assault weapons, the second long- and short-range guns, and the third a rocket launcher. It is unknown how many military men were killed in the gunfight that broke out when the three men tried to enter the base and apparently steal the Apache helicopter known as a Hunter, but estimates are around three dozen. The man with assault weapons opened fire with two guns on the base, wounding and killing at least a dozen men. We will keep you updated as the military learns more about these masked men. I am Donna Brayer, and this is your VC News."

Tommy Vercetti cursed and snapped the television off. Ken leaned towards him and tried to force a smile. "At least we found out what the military are capable of."

Tommy's head whipped around and he glared at his lawyer. "But at the cost of three of my boys. I didn't want to send them and risk their lives, but I just had to know what kind of heat Fort Baxter is packing. After their performance tonight, I'm beginning to think that an all-out assault isn't the way to go. Perhaps stealth is more...appropriate."

Ken considered. "Maybe a combination of the two."

"In any event," Tommy continued, "I also haven't heard back from Skinner yet. He was supposed to make the drop this morning, but Fingers told me no one ever showed. If he's taking the drugs for himself, I'll—"

"About that—" Ken started.

"What?" Tommy prompted.

"Well, I don't know if you heard, but there were three dead men recovered from the water last night at Viceport in the docks. Also, there was an abandoned Infernus sitting up by the boathouse with no fingerprints at all in it."

"Skinner always wore gloves," Tommy said to himself. "Leather ones," he added, almost as an afterthought.

Ken hesitated before continuing. "There's also a filed report of a missing boat. The dock workers reported it to the Vice City Police Department. Who knows if it was really their boat, they might have seen whoever did it take the thing?"

"The boatyard workers," Tommy said. "They would have seen anything happen last night. If I can send some men down there, they could question the workers I hired and ask if they saw anything. We might finally have our man. That would also explain why Skinner didn't show up. If he took the drugs and money for himself, he might be skipping town to go somewhere else."

"Where would he go?"

Tommy considered. "I gotta make a call. Ken, what's Luigi Gotorelli's number?"

Skinner's Squallo roared into port in Liberty City. It was late evening, around seven at night, and Skinner's plans were going well. Bringing the speedy boat in to dock, the shaded man tied the boat to the post and hauled both the case of SPANK and the case of money onto the wooden dock.

Three men, all of them dressed in fancy suits and concealing weapons, walked smoothly down the stairway and approached the man in the trenchcoat and black pants. "You're Travis Skinner, right?"

"I'm him." Was that always the greeting these Mafia guys started with? It sure seemed that way, he thought, remembering two days previously with the other men who had delivered the drugs. "Who wants to know?"

"We're here on business for Luigi Gotorelli, the Leone Mafia. Are you the hitman we hired?"

Skinner nodded, so the man continued his little spiel.

"We've got a big job for you, bud. There's a black Sentinel up those stairs," the man said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder, "so get up into that car. We'll take you to see our employer. He's gonna take a look at ya, and if ya pass, you've got the job."

"Lead the way."


	9. Chapter 8 Back to Liberty

CHAPTER 8—Back to Liberty

"Do you know what you're getting yourself into, kid?" Luigi asked, pacing the room while Skinner sat in a red chair. Lu's club was still in the process of being repaired, meaning they had to have their little interview somewhere else. They chose the next best place, Salvatore's old mansion. "The Don ain't no party boy, Skinner. If you wanna do work for us, you're gonna have to play by the rules."

Skinner leaned back into his chair. "And those are?"

"You come here, we tell you what needs to be done, you do it, come back, you get paid. We'll agree on the amount before you leave. If we find out the job hasn't been done, we hunt you down and you will pay. With your life. In other words, you agree to work for us, and there'll be no screwing around. Do what you're told, or the Don'll have something to say about it."

There was the sound of a door opening and then closing. Skinner looked up and saw a man dressed in a crisp, pressed suit, wearing a hat and carrying a cane, come slowly into the room. "My name's Joey Leone, I'm the Don of the Leone Mafia." The pair shook hands, and Joey took a seat. "You sound very reliable, I've called some of your past employers, and they've all told me great things."

In reality, Skinner had given Joey the numbers of various cell phones he owned. Every time Joey called, Skinner pretended to be a different person on each phone.

"I can do any job, any time, Mr. Leone."

"Please, call me Joey."

"All right, then, Joey," Skinner said uneasily.

"It was me and my boys that finally ran the crazy Triads out of this town. Last we saw of them, they was swimming for their lives over to Staunton Island. I suppose they'll hole up in that part of Liberty for a while. Don't think we'll be seeing much of them until they've built up more men. Their death toll was too great for them to come looking for trouble anytime soon."

"Congrats," Skinner said, nodding at the Don. "Then I suppose Jason coming to Vice City to impress Tommy was a complete waste, eh?"

"You know Jason Beretto?" Joey sounded surprised when Skinner nodded. "How's he doing these days? Actually, haven't heard from him for about two weeks now. We sent him to Vice City to make a deal with the local head there, Tommy Vercetti. You know him?"

Skinner lied again. "I've heard of him, but never done any work for the man. You guys need SPANK?" Skinner asked suddenly.

Joey's eyes lit up. "Actually, we've been running short on it. Harder to smuggle it in with the cops all over the place. Ever since that drug bust down in Trenton, the boats are being watched more closely. Have to time deliveries...very slow work, you know."

"I brought a whole caseload with me. I'll give it to you, for a small fee. I have ways of getting you more. All you gotta do is pay me, and it's yours."

"How much you want?"

Skinner hesitated. Joey was all too eager to get his hands on this stuff. "For the twenty pounds in the case...four grand."

Lu almost exploded with indignation. "You expect us to fork over two hundred dollars a pound? That stuff ain't that good."

"We'll give you three grand for the whole case. And I'll chip in a gun."

"I already own a gun," Skinner snorted.

"Do you have a shotgun?"

Skinner considered. The only gun he had on him was a Colt .45. He had ditched the shotgun he'd killed the Mafia men with back in Vice. He could remember throwing it into the water, because his fingerprints were all over it. It would be nice to have something more powerful in case he needed it. "What kind?"

"Spaz."

Rapid-fire. Nice. "Deal."

Joey smiled and the two shook hands. "Deal."

"So what's my job? Who's the hit?"

"This is gonna be your hardest job yet. I want you to find a man known as the Shadow, track him down, kill him, and dispose of his body. I don't want to hear from him ever again. Get rid of him, Skinner, and I'll pay you double for every case of SPANK, along with a hundred thousand dollars for doing the job."

What Joey had said was true—all the Triads occupying Chinatown in Portland had fled for their lives. All this time, they had been thinking that a victory over the Mafia would be arriving sooner than expected. But when the Mafia crashed Chen Kong-Sang's little rant, all that and more had changed. Until more people could be sent over from China, the tiny band of Triads left in Liberty City was whittled down to merely four dozen and five. After the loss of Sang, a new leader had stepped up and instated three underlords to assist him in his reign of power.

His name was Yu Lun, but everyone called him Lun. Lun had convinced three people—Kang Yao, Dao Yun, and American-born Will Chen—to follow him to victory. His plan was a dangerous one—return to Portland in secret, rig the Leone mansion, vacate the vicinity, and blow it. With any luck, the Don and his underlings would be inside the mansion at the time of the explosion. Careful planning would be taken into consideration when taking on such a scheme. With the Triads, explosions were a great remedy to their problems.

"My spy and explosives expert, Ryo Shang, is willing to provide us with the C4 we will need to rig the mansion and destroy it. I am going to need three volunteers to get over there, do the work, and set the bombs. You will not travel by boat—swimming is our only option. We will set this plan into motion by nighttime." Their meeting place and hideout was the basement of a bar in west Staunton. "With any luck, there'll be no guards watching the ocean, and when you come in, you go up the slope, set the charges underneath the house, get out, and set them off. Fireworks those cops will appreciate trying to ignore."

There was uproars of laughing from the remaining Triads. They hated the Mafia for bringing their powerful numbers down to a dwindling amount. If something wasn't done, those bastards would get away with what they did.

"Our plan is simple. If nothing goes wrong, it is doable. I need to find four people willing to take on this task and make the Triads proud." Most were hesitant to volunteer, so Lun used words of wisdom. They were all talking in Chinese, making for a more patriotic meeting. "Should some of you not make it, you will be remember by China as the greats of our time. But I know in my heart none of you will fail me. Please, step forth, and lend your services."

Hands instantly shot up, and Lun made his selection. "We strike tomorrow evening."

The Shadow had just had a big haul. After collecting packages dropped into the water from a huge plane for a man called Donald Love, he had been rewarded handsomely. The handgun he was carrying was in his leather jacket's pocket, but as he walked down the slope and into his hideout in Staunton, something didn't feel right. There was a soft click in the background noise, and the Shadow made his way down the slope more slowly, drawing the handgun from his pocket and clicking off the safety.

As his foot hit the bottom of the slope and returned to level ground, there was a loud crack, and a sniper slug flew right over his head. He shouted in surprise and threw himself to the left just in time to avoid another bullet. Whoever was attacking him was reloading on the far window, he was sure of it. They were looking out one of the windows on the buildings around his hideout.

"Almost got ya that time, Shadow!" a voice called loudly.

"Shadow?" he called back. "My name's Jack Garrett! Get to know it, because it's the last name you'll ever hear!"

"And I'm Skinner. Likewise, chump!"

But he was not nicknamed the Shadow for nothing. While Skinner was distracted, Jack jumped from his hiding spot and fired off three quick shots. One hit Skinner in the chest, the second missed, and the third hit him in the shoulder. The sniper's rifle fell from his grip and hit the ground, clattering just out of Jack's reach. As for Skinner, the hitman fell from the second-story window and hit the ground of the alley with a thump.

Jack made to nudge the man, but Skinner groaned and picked himself up. Before Jack could fire, Skinner pulled the pin on a grenade and tossed it. Jack threw himself backwards, crying out in dismay as the grenade exploded. But, like a miracle on legs, Jack came through the smoke and opened fire. Skinner rolled behind the wall where the elevator door was and drew his own Colt .45 to match Jack's handgun.

When Skinner went out to fire again, he saw that Jack and the sniper's rifle were gone. Just as he began to realize what had happened, the rifle's butt connected with the back of his head, his face smashed against the wall, and he slumped to the ground. "I didn't get my nickname by being slow," Shadow said, tossing the rifle to the side, out of Skinner's reach.

With his face and head bleeding, Skinner was in no condition to fight. "Who are you working for?" Jack asked, cocking the pistol and aiming it at Skinner's forehead. Skinner didn't reply. "How did you find out where I was holed up?"

To this, Skinner did have an answer. "I threatened a Yakuza man until he told me. Said they've been helping you out. That makes the Mafia hate the Yakuza, buddy."

Jack grinned. "So, you work for the Mafia?" Jack looked Skinner up and down. "You're their little hitman, huh? Some piece of work you are. Barely took me by surprise. Who's the chump now?"

Before Jack knew what had happened, Skinner was up, his hands flying. The pistol was lifted from his grip and flung away, and Skinner instantly went into hand-to-hand combat fighting. Jack blocked a punch, docked under a roundhouse kick, and came up with an uppercut to Skinner's chin. Travis's head snapped back, he hesitated, and then teetered, threatening to fall over. Jack flicked the pistol into his hand, struck Skinner across the face with it, and watched the man fall over.

"Nice try, Mafia man. But it's going to take more than that to kill me. Too bad I can't let you leave knowing where my hideout is. That would be dangerous to my safety. That means I have to kill you. Ready to die?"

Skinner flipped backwards as Jack fired his gun. As the white man made to knock the gun away, Jack grabbed his wrist and flung him against the far wall. Skinner hit the dumpster and slumped to the ground. He could feel the sniper's rifle behind his back. As Jack closed in, Skinner reloaded the gun behind his back and smiled up at Jack. "Heads up."

As Skinner wheeled the gun around, Jack ducked under the bullet, and Jack raised his gun, firing at the rifle and knocking it out of the man's hands, yet again. "Don't you ever learn?" Jack snarled. "I'm the best in the business. There's no one better than me. Not your boss, not any of their hitmen, obviously. I outsmarted you when you were staking out my hideout in Portland, and I can outsmart you again. I'm smarter than all of you combined, and if you try to kill me again, it'll get personal."

Tired of listening to this crap, Skinner pulled the pin on another grenade and chucked it. Jack backed up, covered his face to block the explosion, and as soon as the smoke cleared, Skinner saw Jack was gone. When he felt for the rifle, he found it was missing as well. There was a dinging noise, Skinner looked up, and saw Jack wave as the elevator doors started to close.

Skinner howled in rage and fired his gun, but the doors snapped shut before the bullet made it over. Shadow had gotten away, like he always did. No wonder that was the man's nickname.

Thumbing the clip release, Skinner slammed in a fresh clip and stood. As he did so, he heard the sniper rifle crack, felt something hit him in the chest, and looked down. The bullet had penetrated the Kevlar body armor, entered his body, and exited the back. Skinner gasped, fell to his knees, and hit the ground. He wasn't dead, but it would be a long time before he would wake again.

The four Triads who volunteered for the mission to the Don's mansion stood waiting around the southern tip of Staunton Island. Waiting with them were Yu Lun and Kang Dao. They had both arrived in a fish van, bringing the volunteers in the back of the truck. Ryo Shang arrived in a Reefer minutes after they showed up, and he waved at them while his boat pulled in. "There's your ride, boys," Lun said to his spies. "He will drive you down to Portland, to the southern tip where the Don's mansion lies. Swim to shore, take the C4, and he'll inform you on what to do after that." After bidding them good luck, Lun and Kang got back into the fish van and drove off.

Shang helped the four men into his boat and sat them down around the edges on the seats he had installed. As he took the wheel, pushed the throttle forward, and cruised back on track, he pointed at two large cases. Both of them were waterproof, backpack style objects, and he said firmly, "Those have the C4 in them. Don't get shot in the back while you're wearing them, cuz you know what'll happen then." He laughed heartily and when no one else did, quickly quieted himself. "Ahem. Anyway, two of you will wear them, the other two will be armed. I have two AK-47s in the bag next to the seats," two men reached down and yanked the guns from their places, leaving the bags where it was, "along with a few extra clips." Within seconds, both armed men found the extra ammo.

"How long will this take?" one un-armed man asked.

"As long as it takes for you to plant all eight bombs. Put them around the base of the mansion, one to attack the foundation, and two because you'll be less visible. Make no noise when you move. Oh, change into the black outfits in that bag as well." In short order, all four men were decked in black fatigues. "Very good," Shang said happily. "Get the packs on, we're nearing our destination."

The boat rumbled along the coast, waves rippling in its wake, and halted about a third of a mile away from the beach behind the Don's mansion. "Get into the water, and get going. We don't need any screw-ups. Even if none of you escape alive, if you get the bombs planted, all will be forgiven. I will be waiting here for any survivors. Good luck."

All four men plunged into the freezing cold water, and immediately began swimming for shore. Even though their suits protected against the cold somewhat, all four were eager to get out of the water and reclaim Portland for the Triads.

Toni Cipriani walked slowly from the Don's mansion and onto the porch, placing his margarita on the table and observing Joey sip his daiquiri while watching the cars flash by on the road to his left. At this time of night, the city was surprisingly busy. Joey sighed, took another sip of the rum-filled concoction, and looked sternly at Toni. "What are we gonna do, Toni?" he asked. "I've been trying to get a hold of Jason for too long, and he's not picking up. We have to call him and say we don't need those funds. Even Tommy don't know where he is. Skinner said Jason was in Ross Island, but we can't afford to send anyone to look for him. We need everyone here. I just feel like this family's being torn apart. First pop bites it, then I become responsible for the whole gang, and now Jason is missing."

Toni looked sternly at his friend. "You don't wanna be Don no more?"

"I want to be Don, Toni, I just don't know if I'm cut out for this. Are we doin' the right thing here, by making me Don?"

"Only time will tell, Joey," Toni replied truthfully.

Suddenly, there came a screeching cry. Two Mafia boys came flying from inside the mansion, one of them with handgun raised. "Get down!" he screamed. Both Toni and Joey hit the deck, and the Mafia man fired a single shot. A muffled cry rent the night, and there was a thumping sound. "We got someone out there," the man said, looking at Joey and Toni. "Stay here, we'll go thump 'em." The second Mafia man drew a baseball bat and nodded.

As they both headed into the night, the man who had been shot gasped and made his way to his teammates, who were in the process of attaching the eighth and final C4 explosive. "What happened?" one of the guys asked.

"Evening," a voice behind the staggering Triad grunted. "Look what he got here." A baseball bat came swinging from nowhere, smacking the wounded man in the back of his head. His skull caved in, blood gushed from the wound, and the body fell into the grass. The three remaining Triads looked on in surprise as a second man stepped forward and shot the same man in the back. There was a puff of blood, and before this man could die, he uttered, "Run!"

All three Triad men jumped up and began running. Bullets whizzed around them as they zigzagged their way up to the rock overlooking the water directly behind the mansion. Its hole in the middle resembled an oval as it arched up and then down, away from the land behind it. The three men sprinted up this as Joey Leone jumped onto the grass, leveled a sniper's rifle, and fired a single shot.

The man lagging behind was hit in the back, fell over, and exploded. He hadn't been able to install the final bomb, and it was sitting in his pack. Luckily for the other Triads, he had been far enough away to not affect them. Joey and Luigi, who had finally emerged from the mansion, ran after the Triads, with one Mafia guy, wielding a shotgun, hot on their heels.

Toni was just starting to follow when he felt his back pop, and stopped coming, merely standing near the mansion to watch. Little did he know that the automatic timer in the C4 had activated.

Both Triads took flying leaps from the end of the massive rock and fell towards the water below. The first man smacked into a huge rock in the water headfirst. He didn't even stand a chance. However, the second man splashed into the freezing water and started swimming for the Reefer, which Shang had parked not far away.

Joey breasted the hill, sighted the man in his rifle, held his breath, cocked the gun, and fired. The bullet took the man through his back, but the man kept going. He climbed into the boat as Joey reloaded the gun, took aim again as the boat began to pull away, put the crosshairs on the driver, and fired a second time. The bullet missed, the Reefer turned away from Joey's line of fire, and vanished into the night.

"He got away," Joey said as he lowered the rifle.

"Yeah," Luigi agreed, "but only one of them did. We got the rest of 'em, and those Triads will be sorry they ever messed with—"

That was when the mansion's foundation exploded. The whole house gushed fire and collapsed in on itself. Toni was close enough that he was lifted off his feet, burned by the fire, and thrown back at least twenty feet. The Mafia man on the deck was disintegrated instantly.

Lu, Joey, and the Mafia man were at Toni's side in a heartbeat. "Toni!" Joey cried in dismay. He turned to Luigi, panic on his face. Toni was still alive, but only just. He would need some medical attention for the punishment on his back and the burns on his face. "Lu, what do we do?"

Luigi shook his head and let a tear roll down his cheek. "I don't know if he's gonna make it. Call an ambulance," he said to the Mafia man, "and Joey, get some wet rags. Don't get butter, it'll only make it worse. We gotta cool that burn down." As both men ran off to do as they were bid, Luigi stood and looked out towards the ocean. "This time, Triads, IT'S PERSONAL!" he roared. The only thing to greet his words was the sound of his own echo.


End file.
